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MAGAZINE 

University of North Carolina 




CAROLINA NUMBER 



November, 1919 



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I 



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The "Constitution" of To-day— Electrically Propelled 



*"pHB U.S.S. "New Mexico," the first 
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cally propelled, is one of the most im- 
portant achievements of the scientific 
age. She not only develops the maximum 
power and, with electrical control, has 
greater flexibility of ma- 
neuver, which is a dis- 
tinct naval advantage, 
but also gives greater 
economy. At 10 knots, her 
normal cruising speed, 
she will steam on less 
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Figures that tell the 
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The electric generating 
plant, totaling 28,000 
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Length— 624 feet 
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The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

Old Series Vol. 50 Number 1 New Series Vol. 37 

Contents 

PAGE 

Mrs. Laura Caroline Battle Phillips. Collier 

Cobb 7 

To Our Stronghearts (Verse). /. 8. Terry 14 

Mandy Gets a Melodeon. J. A. Capps 16 

The Hermit Thrush (Verse). E. W. G. Huffman. . 22 

The Call of the Carolina Hills. E. W. G. Huffman 25 
Carolina Athletes — In World Peace. P. Hettle- 

man 29 

An Excerpt from the Song (Verse). E. W. G. Huff- 
man 35 

Lines on an Evening Walk (Verse). E. W. G. Huff- 
man 36 

His Soul Quest. C. J. Parker, Jr 38 

Rebellion (Verse). P. E. Greene 45 

The World Unrest. C. T. Leonard 46 

Song (Verse). P. E. Greene 49 

Are We Becoming Automatons? T. C. Taylor 50 

Editorial Comment 53 

The Idealism of the Average College Student. 

T. C. Taylor 58 

A Freshman's Story. W. J. A 60 

Carolina— E all 1919 (Verse). /. 8. Terry 62 



Cfje Campus 



«♦ gr tjabe an ideal for tt)is WlniSmtiitv. 
3 $jie Desire toould babe it a place 
toljere ttjere i& alfcoai?s a breatb of free; 
dom in ttje air; fcotjere a sound anti toa* 
rious learning is? taught beartil? initio 
out sbofo or pretence; tobere ttie life 
anti teacbings of 3fe^u0 Cbrist furnisb 
fortb ttie ideal of rigbt anti true man; 
Jiood; tobere all classes anti conditions 
anti beliefs? are toelcome and men ma? 
rise in earnest striding b? tbe migbt 
of merit; tobere toealtb is? no prejudice 
anti potoert? nosljame; totym Ijonora; 
ble labor, eben labor of t\)t Mantis?, i0 
glorifieti b? bigb purpose and strenu* 
ous desire for tbe clearer air anti tt>e 
larger bteto; tobere tbere is? a toill to 
serbe all t\)t bisb ends of a £>tate Strug; 
gling up out of ignorance into general 
pofcoer fcotjere mtrx are trained to obsertoe 
clo0el? t to imagine tibial^ to reason 
accurately, and to liabe about ttjem 
some JiumilitE and s?ome toleration; 
fcobere finally trutb, &\)inin% patiently 
like a star, bids us adtoance, and toe 
toill not turn aside/' 



The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

Old Series Vol. 50 Number 1 New Series Vol. 37 

6©rg* Laura Caroline TSattle pJrillips 

Collier Cobb 

A mite of a woman whose life was one of loving kindness 
and gentle service ; as great of heart and mind as she was 
small of body ; as keen of intellect and as clear of vision in 
her ninety-fifth year as when, at the age of sixteen, she was a 
pupil of Princess Caroline Murat's at Bordentown; as 
devoted to her country and as active in the service through 
the world war as any Red Cross nurse or yeowoman could 
have been. Mrs. Phillips has been known to the student body 
as wife, or mother, or grandmother, or aunt, or great aunt to 
many devoted sons of the University who have served well 
their alma mater and their day. 

Born at the Falls of Tar River, near the present town of 
Rocky Mount, N. C, November 5, 1824, Laura Caroline 
Battle was the youngest of the eleven children of Joel Battle 
and Mary Johnson Battle, his wife. Joel Battle was educated 
at the University of North Carolina, where he matriculated 
in 1798. He was a planter on a large scale and a manu- 
facturer of cotton goods, builder of the second cotton mill 
in North Carolina, in 1820, at the Falls of Tar River. 

The eleven children of this family were among our State's 
most useful citizens, their children and grandchildren are 
counted with the most distinguished of North Carolinians, 



8 The Magazine 

and they have done their share of the world's work with 
credit to themselves and to the name in many other states. 

Of the four daughters, Catharine married Dr. Richard H. 
Lewis, and became the mother of Dr. Eichard II. Lewis of 
Kinston, of General Gaston Lewis of Goldsboro, and of 
Mrs. Luther R. Mills of Wake Forest, whose daughter Lucy 
is the wife of Hon. Claud Kitehin of Scotland Neck ; Susan 
married William McKee of Raleigh, and was the mother of 
Dr. James McKee, Superintendent of the State Hospital at 
Raleigh ; Caroline died in childhood ; Laura married Charles 
Phillips, then tutor of mathematics in the University of 
North Carolina. 

Of the seven sons, William Horn (A. B., 1820) was in 
succession reporter of the Supreme Court, Judge of the 
Superior Court, Justice of the Supreme Court, and Professor 
of Law in the University of North Carolina, father of a 
large family of able children; Richard was a lawyer; Isaac 
died in early manhood, unmarried ; Joel was a physician ; 
Dorsey was a planter and lawyer, father of the late Judge 
Dorsey Battle of Rocky Mount ; Columbus was private secre- 
tary to Governor Dudley of North Carolina, and died un- 
married ; Amos was a distinguished Baptist preacher, secre- 
tary of the Baptist State Convention that founded Wake 
Forest College, father of sons and daughters who have shed 
luster on the name in this and other states. 

The children of this family received the best education that 
the times and the land afforded. Laura was sent to the 
school of Mrs. Eliza Potts, at Washington, N. C. ; then to 
Kelvin Grove, the private school of Miss Charlotte Jones, at 
Pittsboro ; and later, at the age of sixteen, to Madame Lucien 
Murat, at Bordentown, N. J. She attended this school with 
her sister Susan. They made the trip to Bordentown from 
Raleigh, where they lived with their brother Amos, partly 
by stage and partly by railroad, escorted by their brother 
Columbus. 



Mrs. Laura Caroline Battle Phillips 9 

The Murat School at Bordentown was established by 
Madame Murat, after her husband, Prince Lucien Murat, 
son of the King of Naples, had spent all her fortune. 
Madame Murat was, before her marriage to the Prince, Miss 
Carolina Georgina Frazer, daughter of Thomas Frazer, an 
Englishman, who married Miss Clitheroe, of Fayetteville, 
~N. C, and settled at Charleston, S. C. Miss Frazer and 
her sisters Jane and Eliza were in the habit of spending a 
portion of each winter in Philadelphia, enjoying the gaities 
of the season. It was on one of these visits that Prince 
Lucien, at the time on a visit to his uncle, Joseph Bonaparte, 
King of Spain, then living in Bordentown, met Carolina 
Frazer. Madame Murat corresponded with her pupil for 
many years, and sent to her from Paris photographs of all 
the members of the Murat family. Napoleon III paid the 
debts of his cousin and gave him an annuity of 30,000 francs. 
Laura Battle and her sister Susan formed many lasting 
friendships while attending the Murat School. One among 
the friends made here was Rebecca Gratz, the beautiful 
Jewess who was the model from whom Scott drew his Re- 
becca in "Ivanhoe," Washington Irving having portrayed to 
Scott the beauty of her character. Another was Richard 
Watson Gilder, later, and for many years, editor of The 
Century Magazine. 

When Henry Clay visited Raleigh in April, 1844, a group 
of young girls welcomed him with garlands, and it was Laura 
Battle who presented him a bouquet on behalf of the girls of 
Raleigh. On receiving the flowers, Clay pushed back her 
poke-bonnet and kissed her. Other girls in this group who 
welcomed Clay with garlands were Miss Susan Battle of 
Raleigh, Miss Sarah Ashe of Fayetteville, Misses Caroline 
and Margaret Kyle of Fayetteville, and Misses Eliza and 
Jane Dudley of Raleigh, daughters of Ex-Governor Dudley, 
Miss Margaret Mordecai of Raleigh, Miss Penelope Williams 



10 The Magazine 

of Pitt, Miss Lucilla Harris of Granville, and Miss Bettie 
Brownlow of Virginia. All of these except Miss Penelope 
Williams had been pupils in the Murat School. Among other 
Southern girls who studied there with Mrs. Phillips were 
Miss Elizabeth Vandiveer, of Washington, "N. C. ; Misses 
Marie Ogier and Caroline Lantz, of Charleston, S. C. ; Miss 
Lantz, a niece of Madame Murat's, who afterwards became 
Mrs. Bacot; Mary Boswell, of Kentucky, who married Mr. 
Riggs, of Washington, builder of the Riggs Hotel ; and Eliza 
Dickenson, of Wilmington, N". C. 

Mrs. Phillips had met Clay, Calhoun, and Webster in 
Washington, in 1841, when she returned South with her 
brother from Bordentown. On that visit she was escorted 
over the Capitol grounds by Senator William A. Graham 
of North Carolina, and she always insisted that he was the 
equal of the others in ability and character. She later met 
all of these gentlemen at her own home in Raleigh. The story 
is told that during Mr. Clay's celebrated campaign for the 
Presidency, in 1844, he was presented to Mrs. Joel Battle as 
the mother of six good Whigs ; whereupon, in his usual 
gallant way, he pushed back her poke-bonnet and gave her a 
kiss. Incidentally, several of the girls who were in that 
reception party in April, 1844, when hard-pressed by their 
grandchildren or their great-nieces, have admitted that Henry 
Clay had kissed them too, before that memorable day was 
over. 

Miss Laura Battle came to Chapel Hill in December, 1844, 
to make her home with her oldest brother, Judge William 
Horn Battle, head of the Law School of the University. 
From that beloved home, "Senlac," she was married Decem- 
ber 8, 1847, to Charles Phillips, then a tutor in mathematics 
in the University, by Bishop William Mercer Green, then 
a professor in the University of North Carolina. It was 
from that home that she was borne by a group of youthful 
kinsmen on October 5, 1919, to rest beside the husband whom 
she survived thirty years. 



Mrs. Laura Caroline Battle Phillips 11 

Charles Phillips and his young wife spent the year 1853- 
54 in Cambridge, Mass., where Mr. Phillips studied mathe- 
matics with Benjamin Peirce at Harvard. Upon their return 
to Chapel Hill he became Professor of Engineering in the 
University of North Carolina, continuing to serve in this 
position until 1860. He was Professor of Mathematics, 
1861-68 and 1875-79. During the period of reconstruction, 
when the University was closed, Dr. Phillips was Professor 
of Mathematics in Davidson College. From 1879 till his 
death, May 10, 1889, he was emeritus professor in the Uni- 
versity. To Charles and Laura Phillips were born eight 
children, only three of whom are now living. Mary (Mrs. 
Verner, of Columbia, S. C), Lucy (Mrs. Russell, of Rock- 
ingham, N. C), and James Phillips, of Macon, Ga. One 
son, the late Dr. William Battle Phillips (Ph. B., 1877; 
Ph. D., 1883), studied at the School of Mines in Freiberg, 
Saxony, was a chemist and mining engineer, and Professor 
of Agricultural Chemistry and Mining at the University of 
North Carolina, 1885-88. He was at one time President of 
the Colorado School of Mines. Another son, the late Dr. 
Alexander Lacy Phillips (A. B., 1880; D. D., 1896), was 
a distinguished Presbyterian minister and author. A 
daughter, Susie, was the wife of Dr. Robert D. Jewett, of 
Wilmington. 

Gentle and self-effacing as she was, possessed of a rare 
personality, a forceful character, and all the Christian graces, 
she loved the University with unswerving devotion, and no 
one has had a greater influence on its course, literally, through 
the generations. Her grandfather, Elisha Battle, Senator 
from Edgecombe County during the Revolutionary War, was 
a member of the Convention of April, 1776, and of the 
Halifax Congress of November and December, 1776, when 
the first Constitution of the State was adopted, a clause of 
which (Section XLI) declared that "all useful learning shall 



12 The Magazine 

be duly encouraged, and promoted in one or more univer- 
sities." Her father, Joel Battle, as already mentioned, 
matriculated at the University in 1788, and remained until 
the death of his father in 1799. Her brothers, William H. 
Battle, Richard H. Battle, Christopher Columbus Battle, 
and Isaac Battle were students here. Her father-in-law, Dr. 
James Phillips, was head of the department of mathematics, 
and his brother a professor in the Law School. Her husband 
was a professor in the University for thirty years, and two 
of her grandsons, Charles P. Russell, a newspaper man, of 
New York, and Drury MaN". Phillips, a mining geologist, 
of Port Arthur, Texas, are among the more recent graduates. 
One great-granddaughter from Panama and a grandson from 
Texas have just entered the freshman class. 

Among her grandchildren, besides those mentioned for 
their connection with the University, are William Phillips, 
a mechanical engineer, of Pittsburgh, Pa, ; Samuel P. 
Yerner, African explorer; Pettigrew Verner, a well-known 
chemist, of Charleston, S. C. ; Charles Yerner, civil engi- 
neer ; Charles Phillips, engineer ; and the Reverend Samuel 
Knox Phillips, a well-known Presbyterian minister. 

To her nephew, the late Dr. Kemp P. Battle, more than 
to any other one man, is due the honor of reviving the dead 
University in 1875. Dr. Battle had already served the 
University as tutor in mathematics, as did also his brother, 
the late Richard H. Battle, of Raleigh, soon after their 
graduation. Nephews and great-nephews, Battles, Lewises, 
Cobbs, Homes, have graduated here, and served well their 
day and generation. As legislators, trustees, professors, 
tutors, and students, the men of her blood have served and 
still serve the University with rare devotion. 

With all her years Mrs. Phillips never grew old. The 
students saw very little of her, but she always mothered 
some of the young professors. Messrs. Yenable, Holmes, 
Toy, Atkinson, and others were taken into her home and 



Mrs. Laura Caroline Battle Phillips 13 

treated like sons, and these all helped to keep her ever 
young and ever learning, for Mrs. Phillips never finished 
her education. Her interests in the great events of the world 
never faltered, and her eagerness for the daily papers, the 
recent magazines, and the new books was undiminished to 
the last. She noted the events in college athletics, rejoiced 
over every victory, was hopeful after every defeat, loved the 
atmosphere of youth and gaiety around her, and was moved 
when the sound of the college bell fell upon ears growing deaf 
to the sounds of earth. 

She was always skilled with her fingers, and in the house- 
hold of Madame Murat, as a pupil in her school, she made 
many a pretty garment for the baby Anna, and throughout 
her life it was her delight to make for her many kindred 
little garments of every description. This skill at needle- 
work, at knitting, and at crocheting she turned to account 
during the world war, earning the money which she con- 
tributed regularly to the Red Cross, and with which she 
bought a bond for each of her daughters. In the window of 
her bedroom there hung a small service flag with seven stars 
for the grandsons she had in service. 

Only once was Mrs. Phillips ever known to boast, and 
her boast was but the expression of a pardonable pride made 
to her daughter. One of these daughters tells us that "At 
the inauguration of President Graham, as the dear old mother 
lay on her couch to survey her kinsmen, gorgeous in academic 
array, a son and grandson, a nephew, grand nephews, and 
great-grand nephews, among them two college presidents, 
three authors, a minister of the gospel, a physician, scientists, 
and successful business men, all good men and true, and all 
looking a little foolish in their man-millinery of purple and 
crimson, blue, yellow, and scarlet. As they passed before 
her, the aged face sparkled like a girl's as she exclaimed: 
'Now, who has done more for the University than this old 
woman V " 



14 The Magazine 



Co 2Dur ©trongj)eatt0 

John S. Terry 

O loyal women, givers of our life, 

You beings brave who dare to give us birth, 
From out the deadly, terror-dealing strife 

That made shambles of the fields of earth, 
Poor wounded men are coming back to you. 

With strength forespent, O women, they return 
So wearied, worn, nerve-wracked, for you to do 

The mothering and comforting they yearn. 

With heart and brain sore-sick from mad war's hell, 

They lean their heads, so weary, on their arms ; 
The poor tired heads which once upright were held, 

When forth these heroes marched at war's alarms. 
The feet that lightly danced short while ago 

Now drag, delaying, halting, tired, and spent; 
Not quick and full of grace, but slow, so slow ! 

These men are shadows of the ones that went. 

No more their eyes may brighten with delight, 

As once they did when music stirred their soul. 
All music now has gone ; and all the sight 

Has fled from these poor eyes and left a soul 
That sits in darkest night — the darkest night 

That man can know. No more the rose, rich red, 
Or lily, or the evening clouds, can light 

The inner fire of joy which beauty fed. 



To Our Stronghearts 15 

All through the ages you have kept mankind 

Above the brute. But they, like brutes, will fight. 
Soon after battle conies your chance to find 

That men's proud boasts are childish, and their might, 
That which they proudly boast and vaunt to men, 

Soon yields to your caress of tender love. 
They tell you of their woes, child-like again, 

And rest contented, strengthened by your love. 

With you remains the task, with cares beset; 

To guide their groping hands is now your part; 
You will in loving kindness all forget 

The heartache of your own ! Though tears may start, 
And though your heart may falter, sore afraid, 

Be strong to help them conquer, these whose smarts 
Burn deep, and help them live on undismayed, 

You mothers brave and true, our great stronghearts ! 




16 The Magazine 



e©anOg ®m a 6©eloOeon 

J. A. Capps 

"You shall be f-r-e-e, 
When de good Lawd set you f-r-e-e." 

The clear alto voice of a negro woman vibrated over the 
Pee Dee Valley, as she led the other hoe hands by the 
distance of almost a row. Negroes — men, women, and 
children — at the other end of the field, were singing, "Oh, 
Gabriel, swing low yo' char-i-ott, and ca-ry me Ho — me.' 7 

Sam Wyandott, of Marse Tom Henry's place, was passing 
along the road with a quarter-sack of flour under his arm. 
He was one of the few negroes of the valley who could afford 
"wheat bread" at this season of the year. In this respect, he 
was fortunate, but he felt himself very heavy of heart; be- 
cause Mandy, his second wife, had deserted him for the 
companionship of the "Sleeping Preacher." He was thinking 
about his Mandy, and maneuvering his mind for some plan 
of revenge, when Mary Ann's voice broke in on his reverie. 
He listened until the last note had reechoed across the 
valley. 

"Huh, if dat sleepin' nigger don't set my Mandy free, I'm 
gwine set his bref free from his body. Here I done git 
m'self sorter fixed up — my mule paid fo' ; an' now dis sleepin' 
nigger come 'long an' git Mandy all 'fatuated, so she hain't 
no mo' 'count." Sam stood in the shade of a persimmon tree 
thus commenting. 

The thought of supper brought him to his senses and he 
shuffled off down the road. At Mammy Cole's cabin he 
stopped. Mammy was a portly woman who had seen service 



Mandy Gets a Melodeon 17 

as a slave on Marse Hemphill's plantation. She was not in 
sympathy with the excitement that had been set in motion 
by the sleeping preacher, Reverend Raymond Hanson. She 
was putting supper on the table when Sam poked his head in 
at the door. 

"Good ebnin', Miss Cole." 

"Oh, Lawd, Mr. Wyndott, you skeered me most to def. 
Come in. Have a cheer. The fokes is all gwine ober to hear 
Reverent Ranson preach in his sleep agin to-night, so I 
hopes you'll 'scuse me if I keeps right on wif my pre- 
perashions." 

"Certainly, Miss Cole. I just passin' by an' lowed I'd 
drap in a minit. How is you all ?" 

"I'm tolbly, how's all you fokes ?" 

"All well sep'n Mandy." 

"You don't say so ! What seem to be her ailment?" 

"It's dis yer sleepin' nigger. She hain't stayin' home no 
mo' since he been 'roun'. I seed her up Leesburg dis ebnin' 
She say she got a divine call to lebe me 'lone an 7 stay near 
her shepperd, de sleepin' nigger. She say he gwine git her 
a melodeon to play 'ligious tunes on. Miss Cole, what I 
gwine do ? De cotton gettin' grassy, an' dey hain't nobody 
to do de cookin'. I sho' do wants my Mandy at home. She 
say she ain't cummin' 'less I buy her a melodeon, but I 
can't buy no melodeon 'till I sells my cotton." 

Mammy Cole had stopped her work and was looking at the 
visitor as he sat with his head inclined between his shoulders 
staring at the red coals around a pot on the hearth. She shook 
her head as if she felt herself unable to render advice, and 
then drew the bread pan from the fire. As she turned towards 
the table, Sam heard her scream and looking up saw her fall 
into the arms of a tall, well-dressed mulatto negro. He recog- 
nized the stranger as Rags Cole, Mammy's son, who had been 
gone for ten years. 



18 The Magazine 

As the hoe hands were coming up the road in front of the 
cabin, the two men left it by the back door and were soon 
seated on a log above the spring. Rags' eyes sparkled as he 
talked: "Yes, sir," he was saying, "I knows dat sleepin' 
nigger jes' same as I do mah own self. He owes boad bills 
all ober Charleston. At de Dixy Hotel, whah I wuz managah, 
he gits up one night and robs de whole place while he wuz 
'sleep. I spec he dreamed dey wuz aftah him, too, 'cause 'fo' 
de police could git dah, he done clime down de fire 'scape an' 
gone." 

"Rags, take mah han' ; de mo' you tawk de happiah I 
gits," laughed Sam. 

The two talked in subdued tones until the voice of Mammy 
Cole announcing supper made it necessary for them to 
separate. Sam danced down the path, carrying a light heart 
and his twenty-four pounds of flour. The flour was not to 
be made into biscuits that night, nor ever by him; for, if 
his plan worked, his regular cook would be home before 
morning. 

By seven-thirty Sam was in the "Big Road," and, like 
hundreds of other dusky-hued individuals, was headed 
towards Zion Church, A. M. E., South. The negroes moved 
in groups. The central topic of conversation everywhere was 
the Reverend Raymond Ranson and his wonderful work in 
reclaiming the black race. It was a remarkable case. Here 
this ordinary hoe hand, who had come over from Columbia 
just three weeks ago, was thrilling the whole black population 
of Pee Dee Valley with his masterful oratory. And what 
made it more wonderful was that he could preach only while 
asleep. Nothing like it had happened since the Charleston 
earthquake. 

When the crowd, which Sam had fallen in with, came in 
sight of the church, the yard was filled with a black mass of 
humanity, all burning with religious zeal. One woman was 



Mandy Gets a Melodeon 19 

standing on the steps trying to explain the meaning of the 
strange things that had happened to the colored race during 
the past week. 

"I tells yon all," she was saying, "he is the saver of the 
black fokes jes' lack Jesus wuz de saver of de white fokes. 
~No longer ago den to-day, while I wuz helpin' Sis Coffee 
clean up de house, I kept hearin' a voice tellin' me, 'You is 
my chozen people, you shall be free.' An' Sis Coffee wuz 
right dar, but she did'n' heer it, 'cause her heart hain't 
right!" 

Sam saw that the speaker was his wife. He slipped off 
behind a clump of bushes. Other negroes took the steps and 
testified. Some had heard voices, others had failed to hear 
or see anything, and believed it was because their hearts were 
not right. 

Presently a great crowd of men was seen approaching from 
towards Leesburg. It passed near enough to Sam for him 
to see stretched upon a cot, borne by four strong men, the 
Reverend Hanson, clothed in a white nightgown. Everybody 
got quiet as the procession moved into the church. The black 
flock clothed in many colors followed. Mammy Cole caused 
considerable comment by going to her accustomed place in 
the amen corner. The other regulars came forward and wel- 
comed her back. The cot holding its precious burden rested 
upon the rostrum. A low mumbling chant, lead by Deacon 
Berry, was begun. The shuffling of feet added momentum to 
the words : 

"In my heart, 
In my heart, 

There's a little wheel a-turnin' 
In my heart." 

The song was finally cut short by the dark figure, clothed 
in spotless white, rising from the cot and, with closed eyes, 
moving slowly towards the front of the pulpit. At the same 



20 The Magazine 

time a tall mulatto, recognized by a few as Rags Cole, came 
hurrying down the aisle. He spoke to Deacon Berry in a 
hoarse whisper, audible all over the church: 

" Sheriff Mufry, frum Charleston, is outside, an' sez he 
gwine have dat sleepin' nigger, dead or 'live." 

Reverend Ranson opened one eye and saw Rags. That was 
enough. With a bound he passed head foremost through the 
open window. Some of the women, among them Mrs. 
Wyndott, began to scream. Rags mounted the rostrum and 
with a sweep of the arm brought silence. 

"Ladies and gent'emens," he began, "mos' ob you know me. 
I am Mammy Cole's Rags, who's been livin' in Charleston fo' 
ten year. I know's dis yer sleepin' nigger. He's a disgrace 
to the culled race. He's done bin in jail fo' or five times, an' 
he's stole money frum mos' ebery 'onest nigger in dat town ; 
now he's cum up here nimflammin' you all. Hain't I right ? 
He done 'ticed Mr. Wyndott's Mandy frum him, an' hain't 
he eatin' your fried chicken widout payin' fo' it % Why fo' he 
take so much collection in his sleep ? 'Cause he gwine carry 
it off fo' de summer an' play craps wid it." 

Sam Wyndott, noticed by only a few people, had placed 
himself beside the speaker during the excitement. His wife 
stared at him with imploring eyes. 

"Nigger woman," Sam demanded, "git yo'self up out o' 
dat an' le's go home. I'll teach you to go scamperin' 'roun' 
here wid a strange nigger when de grass is eatin' de 
cotton up." 

Meekly Mandy picked up her little handbag and followed 
her lord to the door. Outside she ventured to take his arm. 

"Loosen me, woman," demanded Sam. "You's done 
poluted yo'sef wid dat sleepin' nigger. Now you's gona 
unpolute yo'sef by hoein' de grass out o' my cotton 'fo' you 
starts any fomality wid dis chile." 



Mandy Gets a Melodeon 21 

Mandy walked home in silence ; her master strutted as 
though he owned the world. When he spoke, it was to him- 
self, though he took care that his helpmeet was close enough 
to hear what he said. Such expressions as, "The ideer of a 
woman leavin' her 'spectable home to go rasticatin' 'roun' 
de country wif a good fo' nothin' nigger lac dat," slipped 
from his lips at every few paces. 

"Now, nigger, git yo'sef to bed, so's you'll be able to do 
sum work to-mor'," were his orders as soon as they entered 
the house. 

"I specs I better count my money fust," said Mandy, 
pulling a roll of bills as large as a stove pipe from her hand- 
bag. "You see sum nigger might take a notion to carry it 
off while I'm sleepin'." 

"Good Lawd, Mandy, whar you git all dat greenback ?" 

"It's de collections dat Brudder Eanson's been takin' up, 
but since he's gone I spec it's mine now." 

"Sho' it's ourn, Mandy; I knowed all de time you wuz 
the best gal in de Ian'," and he slipped his arm around her. 
"Come on, hunny, an' le's go over to see if Mammy Cole an' 
Rags won't hoe fo' us to-mor', while we goes to Leesburg an' 
buys you all a melodeon." 



22 The Magazine 



Ci)e permit Cftru0j) 

E. W. G. Huffman 



One April day I chanced to hear 
A hermit thrush beside the road, 
And from its mystic throat there flowed 

Voluptuous chords, so far, so near. 
The naked trees a moment ceased 
Their murmurings. The bird, well pleased, 

Sang on, enraptured by the day, 

Which it perhaps mistook for May. 

The daisies flocked the woodland path, 
Complaining brooks forgot their woe, 
While here and there green shrubs did grow, 

And no one cared to dream of death. 
Swamp angel, oh, my little thrush ! 
Sweet harbinger ! Drear winter's hush 

Will vanish soon with thee to sing 

Thy wondrous summer christening! 

II 

Alone thou dwellest in solemn peace, 

And seldom loiter by the way, 

As though thou wert a castaway, 
And dare not ask for thy release. 

But nay, thy courtly dress and fair 

Displayal of thy charms one dare 
Not misinterpret — thou art king 
Of all the sylvan fays that sing. 



The Hermit Thrush 23 

Polite and modest, loathe to roam, 

A solitary ruralist; 

By harsh societies dismissed, 
But far the proudest bird of home. 

Still never idle is thy life, 

E'en though thou shun'st the daily strife ; 
Remaining obscure in thy cove, 
Unstinted, happy with thy love. 

Ill 

Like ancient monks bowed low in prayer, 

With reverential piety, 

Belittling notoriety, 
For some secluded forest lair. 

Desirous not of glory, gain, 

Content to chant thy occult strain — 
A voice of woodland mysteries, 
Replete with sacred litanies. 

Serene, ethereal, evening hymn 

Poured forth from earth's most heavenly voice, 

I could not hear and not rejoice : 
Each syllable addressed to Him. 

Pure, liquid, luscious notes supreme, 

A flute-like melody of dream, 
Compared with such, the songs of men 
Are insignificant and vain. 

IV 

A rhapsody for kings is thine ; 

Thy coat, a costume for a queen ; 

Thy home, a palace rare, I ween — 
No marvel thou art called divine. 



24 



The Magazine 



Ah, inmost inmate of the woods, 

And lord of sinless solitudes, 
Bereft of toil and free from care, 
No monk e'er breathed a holier prayer. 

Fair woodland nymph thy lay to me 

Is what the instruments of old 

Were to the kings and shepherds bold, 
Blent with Egyptian minstrelsy. 

And e'er when gloom would rule my heart, 

And I am tempted to depart 
The lanes of love, away I hie 
To pray with thee, life's threnody. 




The Call of the Carolina Hills 25 



Cfte Call of tfte Carolina I£>ili0 

E. W. G. Huffman 

In a certain Tar Heel periodical this summer the follow- 
ing story was run on a bright sunshiny day when the editor's 
heart was light, and the office activities had been successfully 
disposed of during the morning hours. The headline was : 
"Bachelor in Quest of Love-Mate." The bank read: 

" , Bachelor, Runs Ad for a Plain, Neat, 

Good-Looking Maid or Widow." The story follows in detail : 

"In to-day's mail the editorial department received 
an ad of more or less interest to the members of the 
finer fairer sex. If we have interpreted it correctly 
we have an old bachelor advertising for a wife that 
would suit his bacheloristic demands. It reads in 
part : "To any good-looking, plain, neat maid or 
widow — good character, some means like to have few 
letters — good-looking bachelor, age 47, medium 
description. County Home $5,000." Just precisely 
what he means we are unable to comprehend, so we 
leave the correct interpretation to those who are more 
personally interested. 

"Usually, $5,000 will bring a reply at least, and in 
many cases will purchase what he has in mind. Per- 
haps, had he sent us a photographic exhibition of 
himself in order that the innumerable members of 
the fairer sex may have an opportunity to peruse his 
corporal qualities, a voluminous bunch of letters 
would have flocked to his destination, and would 
apparently make it a difficult matter to decide which 
one to select as his future love-mate. 



26 The Magazine 

"To those who are interested, we suggest that they 
send the bachelor a letter. For further details, we 
refer our readers to our classified ad department." 

It so happened that the writer of this article was fortunate 
enough to accidentally meet this old bachelor some time later, 
while roaming in the hills, and have quite a chat with him. 
As the conversation progressed, and the unfortunate, solitary 
man became amiable, he unfolded to me the history and 
phenomenal secret of his life. 

The story follows as related to me near the climax of our 
conversation : 

"But why did you remain a bachelor ?" I queried. 

"Many people have asked me that very same question," 
he replied simply, "and to them all I gave no reply. How- 
ever, to you, I will tell my tale of woe — of love — of life. 

"Upon completion of college, contrary to a very dear 
friend's wishes and requests, I returned to my native hills of 
Carolina. This friend, to whom I have just alluded, was 
named Fay Childhood; youth, boyhood, girlhood, school 
days, manhood and womanhood we had spent together. In 
fact, we had lived together. Our fathers' plantations 
adjoined. 

"We both left for college the same year, the same week. 
She went North ; I came South. Our love, we thought, was 
final, inseparable. Holidays we spent together at home. 
Love increased and continued to be a continuous hour of 
ecstasy during the first three years of our collegiate careers. 
The fourth year, however, proved fatal. Fay returned to 
her home people a changed girl. She detested farm life. 
She longed for the cities, and for all that was daring and 
apparently stylish. After so long a time, she convinced her 
father to sell his plantation, to move North, which lie did, 
she being the only child. 



The Call of the Carolina Hills 27 

''Before she left, she asked me to come to her likewise ; 
but I refused. Why did I refuse, you ask? Simply this: 
the Fay I once loved had changed. These hills, that I have 
always loved and always will, have never changed and never 
will. Inanimate though they be, they call, Naked, yet they 
are clothed. Rocky — each rock is but a jewel in my sight. 

"While in school, I dreamed my dreams of love and these 
dear old hills. I saw Fay there with me, happy, content, and 
dreaming in her happiness. And, too, the ways of the North 
are not the ways of the South; neither are the ways of the 
East and West the ways of the South. She has her own. 
Any one who deviates from her ways is not a Southerner. 

"Yes, perhaps, you, too, my young friend, have called me 
a fool during this extended discourse, and maybe I am. I 
will not deny that possibility. I never have. 

"Years and years have passed since I made this decision. 
Yet, were I to do it again, I would render the same inevitable 
verdict. There is a fascination about the hills of Carolina 
which time can not dispel. There is a fascination about Fay 
that death can not overcome. Yet, where ideals of lovers do 
not blend, union is not advised. These hills and mine blend." 

At this juncture he paused, smiled slightly. For the first 
time I noticed that his hairs were still black and untinted 
with grey. He was still young. He arose quietly, went to a 
large bookcase in the corner of his library, and brought back 
with him four neatly bound volumes of considerable size. 

"These are mine," he remarked quietly. 

"Great heavens ! — what — you the famous author ?" I 
literally screamed. 

"I suppose so," he added. "To you, yes; to most others, 
no. Few know me as I am, yet millions know me through 
my books — so they say." 

"You wrote ' ■ ' ?" 

"Yes." 



28 The Magazine 

"And ' ' and ' ' ?" I continued. 

"Yes, all of those with the same name." 

"For heaven's sake, why did you tell me all of that history 
of your life — me, a mere reporter ?" 

"Well," he remarked good-naturedly, "I was studying 
human nature. The ad I sent was an utter fake. I am 
writing a humorous novel, and desired some foolish letters, 
so I sent the ad as though I were a fool," here he enjoyed a 
long laugh. I participated only at intervals, for I was gasp- 
ing for my breath all the while. 

"Fay, too, is still single. Perhaps, some day, the call of 
the Carolina hills will predominate, and she will again come 
into her own. When that day arrives, and not before, I will 
let the public know who I am in truth." 

This concluded our conversation. I had nothing more to 
say. Parting hurriedly, for I felt that I was under the wrong 
roof, he extended to me a most amiable invitation to return. 

As I journeyed home, the thought that I had met and talked 
with one of the greatest novelists and poets of the day pre- 
dominated in my mind, and since that time I have often 
wondered if Pay has returned. 

Shall I tell you, gentle reader, his name ? No, I can not. 
Promises by friends should never be broken. 

Finally, this story is a true story. 



Carolina Athletes — In War and Peace 29 



Carolina atftletes— 3n Miar anD peace 

P. Hettleman 

The most remarkable thing about Carolina's varsity foot- 
ball team this year is that every man has been engaged in the 
service of his country. This article attempts to give a brief 
account of the services rendered to the nation by the football 
men of Carolina, who are still defending the Carolina spirit, 
and who, just as they served their alma mater in time of war, 
are still willing to make the greatest sacrifices to perpetuate 
her honor and glory. 

"Coach" Campbell entered the Plattsburg Training Camp, 
April 23, 1917. On August 5, 1917, "Coach" was awarded 
a captaincy, and assumed command in the 76th Division at 
Camp Devens as a machine-gun trainer. 

Two months later Campbell joined the famous 3rd Division 
in France. It is a common report that Captain Campbell 
exerted all kinds of strategy to get in the front line trenches, 
but his capacity as an instructor resulted in a continuance of 
his duty as a machine-gun trainer. His ability as a born 
leader of men had already been demonstrated, when Carolina 
won the Great Southern Football Classic at Richmond in 
1916. 

Graham Ramsey went to the First Officers' Training 
Camp, Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia, May 10, 1917, and re- 
ceived his commission as second lieutenant in August. His 
first command was over the 371st Infantry at Camp Jackson, 
Columbia, S. C, where, after four months of efficient service, 
he was promoted to first lieutenant. 



30 The Magazine 

Ramsey's first real fighting took place in the Verdun 
sector, April, 1918. From there he joined in the great 
Champaigne offensive, where his army career ended, because 
of a leg wound received on September 28, 1918. 

For extraordinary heroism in action, since Ramsey con- 
tinued to lead his men in battle while suffering from a 
painful leg wound, he was awarded the Croix de Guerre. 

Coach Ramsey remained in the hospital in France for 
three months. Returning to the United States, he landed at 
Camp Lee, Virginia, February 22, 1919. Immediately upon 
receiving his discharge he returned to the University to 
begin spring football practice. 

Roy Homewood joined the army, August 22, 1917, at the 
Second Officers' Training Camp, Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. 
In November, 1917, Homewood received a commission as 
second lieutenant, and was consigned to the 84th Field 
Atrillery stationed in California. 

Homewood's record is cherished by Carolina fans, because 
he was a member of the Carolina varsity for four years. In 
his last year of football, Homewood was awarded the title 
of All-Southern End. 

"Nemo" Coleman, full-back and captain of the team, left 
the University, May 13, 1917, to enter the First Officers' 
Training Camp at Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. After winning 
his commission as second lieutenant, "Nemo" was transferred 
to Camp Jackson to assume his command over the 322nd 
Infantry. As a result of two months' efficient service at 
Camp Jackson, Coleman was promoted to first lieutenant. 

"Nemo" landed in France, September 12, 1918, and 
immediately entered the offensive in the Meuse-Argonne 
sector. 

Coleman played half-back with the Camp Jackson football 
squad in 1917. While in France, "Nemo" represented the 



Carolina Athletes — In War and Peace 31 

81st Division eleven as full-back, and made quite a record 
on the "gridiron of France." He was discharged from 
service July 11, 1918. 

E. A. Spaugh, right half, was among the University con- 
tingent who went to Plattsburg Junior Camp in June, 1918. 
Spaugh was later transferred to Camp Zachary Taylor, where 
he received his commission as second lieutenant. Spaugh 
remained at Zachary Taylor in command of the Field 
Artillery, C. O. T. S. 

In 1916, Spaugh played full-back on the Freshman team. 

"Doc" Johnson, quarter, left the University, May 13, 
1917, and entered the army as a private, Camp Sevier, 
Greenville, S. C. Here he joined the 113th Field Artillery, 
and landed in France with this outfit August 1, 1918. 

"Doc" was engaged in the battles around Toul, Verdun, 
St. Mihiel, and the Argonne sector, and as a reward for 
courageous action was promoted to sergeant. Later Johnson 
entered the Saumer Artillery School, and has received a 
commission in reserve as second lieutenant. 

"Doc" substituted as quarter in the Virginia game, 
Thanksgiving, 1916. 

W. A. Blount, center, entered Plattsburg, July, 1918, 
where he was awarded a commission as second lieutenant. 
He assumed his command in New York City over an infantry 
detachment ( unassigned ) . 

Blount played center on the Freshman team in 1916. 

G. A. Barden, left guard, enlisted in the navy, June 13, 
1917, at the Charleston Naval Training School. Barden re- 
mained in Charleston until he was discharged from the 
navy February 7, 1919. 



32 The Magazine 

While in Charleston, Barden played football with the 
Charleston Naval Training Camp eleven. This team was the 
champion squad of the fifth naval district, and had the dis- 
tinction of winning three silver cups during the season. 
Barden played guard on the Freshman team in 1915; in 
1916 he made his letter on the varsity playing the same 
position. 

B. C. Harrell, left tackle, volunteered for service in the 
United States Army three times, but was rejected because 
of a slight physical disability. In October, 1917, while 
principal of the Shelby Graded Schools, he was drafted and 
sent to Camp Jackson. Here he served on the Medical Corps 
for three months. Harrell was then transferred to Camp 
Wadsworth, Spartanburg, S. C, being attached to General 
Hospital 42. He was discharged from the service August 
12, 1919. 

Harrell played left guard on the varsity in 1916, and has 
the distinction of being one of the two men that played in 
every game of the year. (The other player was Graham 
Ramsey. ) 

Bill Grimes, right guard, joined the army as a private in 
the 113th Field Artillery, Camp Sevier, Greenville, S. C, 
on May 13, 1917. Immediately upon arrival in France, 
Grimes was promoted to telephone sergeant. Grimes and 
Johnson both joined the same outfit, and remained together 
until the end of the war. For nine months Grimes was in 
active service in the Argonne, St. Mihiel, and Toul sectors. 

Bill played right guard on the varsity in 1915 and 1916. 

F. C. Cochran, right end, went to Plattsburg, July 5, 1918. 
On September 7, 1918, he received his commission as second 
lieutenant, and was transferred to Camp Grant, Illinois, 
Depot Brigade. Cochran received his discharge from service 
December 12, 1918. 



Carolina Athletes — In War and Peace 33 

Cochran received his first experience in college football in 
1917. In that year he played right end on the Freshman 
team. 

W. G. Pritchard, right tackle, joined the navy at Hampton 
Roads, Va., May 12, 1917. After serving a year as a second- 
class seaman, he was sent to the Naval Officers' Training 
School, where he received the rank of ensign. Pritchard then 
became a member of the Atlantic Fleet squadron, and during 
the war performed patrol duty in the vicinity of the Gulf of 
Mexico. He was released from the service February, 1919. 

Pritchard played left tackle on the Freshman team in 1916. 

Hugh Dortch, substitute right tackle, and the first man 
from University to enlist in the army, joined the 2nd Regi- 
ment, North Carolina National Guard in April, 1917. This 
regiment was sent to Camp Sevier, and became the 119th 
Infantry. Hugh went to Belgium with the machine gun 
company, where he first engaged in action with the British 
Army. The 119th Infantry was part of the 30th Division, 
which broke the Hindenburg line September 29, 1919. 

Major John Hall Manning, who played football for 
Carolina in 1910, and Lieutenant Hargrove Bellamy, who 
played on the 1916 team, were members of this famous outfit. 
Dortch, as a recognition of his loyal service in the army, was 
promoted to platoon sergeant of the machine gun company. 

In 1915, Dortch was left tackle on the Freshman team. 

J. K. Proctor, left end, went on May 14, 1917, to the 
First Officers' Training Camp, Fort Oglethorpe, Georgia. 
Proctor was commissioned a second lieutenant on August 15, 
1917, and three days after receiving his commission he sailed 
for France. Proctor was a member of the 81st Division, 
which saw actual fighting in the front line trenches for over 
a year. 



34 The Magazine 

E. W. Tenney, half-back, joined the 113th Field Artillery, 
Camp Sevier, in April, 1917. In June, 1917, Tenney landed 
at Le Havre, France, but it was not until September 12th 
that Tenney engaged in his first real battle at St. Mihiel. 
Tenney was a member of a scouting party under the famous 
Captain Ben Lacy, at which time they captured four 
machine guns from the Germans, thus defeating the Huns 
with their own weapons. 

Tenney was gassed while in service. When discharged, he 
had attained the rank of sergeant. 

R. B. Bobbins, guard, joined the navy in June, 1918. He 
was sent to the Pelham Bay Naval Training Station, at 
which place he was made a petty officer. After seven months' 
service in the navy, Bobbins was released on December 18, 
1918. 

Before coming to the University, Bobbins played guard two 
years on the Augusta Military Academy squad. In 1916 he 
held the position of guard on the Carolina Freshman reserve 
team. 

F. D. Bell, substitute center, left the Hill, November, 
1917, to join the Aero Squadron. Bell received his first in- 
struction at Kelley Field, Texas. Then he went to Morris- 
town, where he was enrolled with the 482nd Aero Squadron. 

Bell left for France, March 4, 1918, where he performed 
valiant service in the vicinity of Toul, Nancy, and Colombe 
"Les Belles." He was released from the service in March, 
1919, after having served one year and three months overseas. 

The crusade for democracy has been finished, but the old 
fight still goes on. The battle is an everlasting one. As 
civilization marches on, the field for service becomes an ever- 
increasing one, and Carolina must continually gird her loins 
in order that she might continue her mission. 



An Excerpt from the Song 35 

Every one who is a true Carolina man will admire the 
record of her football men. But even greater than this record 
is their character, and their love for fair dealing and clean 
sportsmanship will forever be an inspiration to those who 
follow in their wake. 



3n 4£*cerpt from tfte §>ong 

E. W. Gr. Huffman 

holy, holy, holy ! hyaline, 

Ye men have homes and I have mine : 

1 dwell afar from cities' din 
To shun the lusty world of sin. 
God sends the brooks to hum for me 
Its silver-tuned soft melody. 

He gives me fragrant flowers each day, 

A garden green where I may play. 

There blows the winds of Lebanon ; 

Deep-bedded vaults of priceless stone. 

The snow-clad heights of Mitchell's peaks, 

And warmth from gulfs and southern creeks. 

I have four walls : the east and west, 

The north and south; a place to rest: 

The earth ; my roof the azure skies, 

The moon, the stars, — a thousand eyes ; 

While kingdoms won I everywhere 

All decked with floral beauties rare. 

Pan's fairies haunt my secret cells, 

And softly plink their lullabells, 

Evoking nymphs and naiads sweet, 

Who gracefully with willing feet 

Dance lightly on the lips of flowers, 

And steal their honey, dust their bowers, 

And spread sweet incense to the sea, 

These kingdoms all belong to me. 



36 The Magazine 

Lines on an dBtiening Mialk 

E. W. G. Huffman 

For it is night and stillness reigns supreme ; 

Tired nature nods while toil of day is 

Long forgot. The plowman sleeps a calm, sweet sleep 

Of peace ; the dozing herds browse softly in 

Their stalls. The hours roll on. A thrush cries out 

In a wild dream, a thrilled ecstatic song; 

Wakes, stirs, then sleeps again. The horned moon, 

So mystic, wan, steals silently across 

The sky and gazes sadly in a world, 

Dew-kissed, sleep-blissed — of late bereft of care. 

The cocks crow loud. The lone, low tinkle of 

The cattle on the hills softly descends 

At intervals. The honeysuckle, corn, 

And herbs innumerable waft in the winds. 

The slumberous streams sleep on; the katydid, 

The locust, and, at times, the cricket, sing 

In harmony. The poet, too rapturous 

To rest, has wandered far to drink 

The glories of the night and dream his dreams. 

The frogs have ceased their harsh monotony 
Of song. An old man past three score and ten, 
Forgetful of the day, with mind 'most lost, 
And greatly ill at ease, with faltering step 
And cane addressed the passer-by in faint 
And mumbling dialect and journeyed on. 
Moonbeams and shadows blue, danced on the old 
Catawba, which, it seemed, did play on silver harps 
A sweeter, richer melody of song 
Hithertofore unheard, unpraised. 



Lines on an Evening Walk 37 

The poet, 
E'en as a thief, waylaid and stole the flowers 
Of Pan that strewed his path. He sipped 
The honey from the cells and then did drain 
The nectar cup, and spread a delicate 
Perfume abroad. A picket bee returned 
Well ladened to its hive and waked with joy 
The neighboring inmates ; quarreled ; and slept once more. 
A lone dog barked ; the moon descended in 
The western skies and left a large halo 
Of beauty rare. Cool zephyrs that perhaps 
Had kissed the ocean waves and mountain tops, 
Perchance been bathed in summer clouds e'er fanned 
The writer's cheeks. Time sped away towards dawn. 
All nature slept save insects here and there 
That chirped continuously. The poet soon joined 
The happy throng of those that slept, and left 
The world to nature and himself to God. 



38 The Magazine 



^t0 §>ottl Ctiim 



C. J. Parker, Jr. 



There is an old story, now almost tradition, which tells of 
a red-headed and fiery-spirited Afghan, who in his boyhood 
days was removed from his own war-like race into the 
interior remoteness of Indo-China. During his earlier years 
he chanced upon a party of British adventurers engaged in 
the exploration of that portion of Central Asia. The white 
men were attracted by this unusual and striking native, and 
employed him as a guide ; conferring upon him the honorary 
and highly satisfying title of "Mike." But christened, though 
he was, with this good old Irish name, he was not long to 
remain so — leave that to the jocular old pack-train sergeant; 
him with the voice of voluminous bass, which always re- 
minded one of the rumbling sea or of the distant thunder. 
Just to hear him roar, "Moike, B'gad Moike," and the natives 
would stop in fear, and gaze apprehensively at the sky ; while 
the little, lithe Afghan would slip softly up, and, chattering 
glibly, would receive his orders, and glide softly away to 
their execution. 

It was thus that "Moike, B'gad Moike" became a celebrity, 
and was known even to the extremes of that indefinite portion 
of the earth geographically described as Indo-China. And 
strange not at all that, several years later, when the explorers, 
finding the country not so rich as they had expected, departed, 
and with them Mike. That is, as far as Shanghai, for there 
he fell a victim to the subtle charms of the fair women of the 
East, and returned shortly to his native hills, with a beauti- 



His Soul Quest 39 

ful, yellow-skinned, narrow-eyed Chinese as his bride. A 
very short time afterward he was crowned "Moike B'gad" 
the Great, ruler, sole potentate of the royal province of 
Xyar-Wymai. 

But now the lapse of tradition, and, bridging the chasm, we 
are thrown into the present. Encountering again the name 
and family founded by the fiery-haired Afghan ; but, touched 
by time and Indo-Oriental environment, both name and 
appearance are altered, and we meet Maika Bijad IX, a 
person of strictly Oriental appearance and manner, but, for 
all of that, prince, heir apparent to the throne of Kyar- 
Wymai. 

Now this Maika Bijad IX had been born with a longing in 
his heart, an insatiable desire for adventure, and it was his 
dearest ambition to penetrate the mystery of the great beyond. 
He was through heredity a meddler, and delighted in en- 
countering the seemingly insurmountable. His footsoles 
itched ever for the open road, and he rested not unless able 
to defy successfully the laws of man and nature. Xo small 
wonder that the confines of Indo became too small for this 
embryo superman, and he set out, manning masterfully a 
great floating log, drifting swiftly with the treacherous and 
uncertain currents of the great river, augmented now by the 
rushing spring freshets. 

Two days, and the log grounded upon the black mire of 
the multi-mouthed river. Maika stepped forth, facing the 
magnificent, white-columned sanctuary of the mighty god 
Buddha ; and, caring not for the laws of the great sitting god, 
he strode boldly in and demanded his fate. The black, 
withered priest, obedient always, threw back the heavy silken 
dr apings, disclosing the enormous sphere of crystal wherein 
the son of Indo might see for himself the diverging threads 
of his destiny. 



40 The Magazine 

II 

Seven-thirty, and 'Frisco sets out to work. Boulevard and 
alley alike become one surging mass of humanity, struggling 
toward a repetition of yesterday — for the bread that is to be 
the sustenance of to-morrow. All a mighty mystery, a 
kaleidoscopic vision floating swiftly before the eyes of the 
bewildered Oriental. Maika Bijad, Prince of Nyar-Wymai, 
stopped — was jostled, and shoved on — insignificent among 
the bustling crowds of the Great Democracy. With difficulty 
he extricated himself from the hostile mob, and made his 
way into a little white-tiled eating place kept by two persons 
of unmistakable Oriental lineage. He spoke, in desperation 
deigning to notice one of the despised bourgeois. ISTo avail; 
the vernacular of the Indo clearly was unintelligible to the 
Anglicized Chinese of Quay Street. The language of signs, 
sole survivor of the metamorphosis at Babel, he brought into 
play, and secured thereby his morning meal. Bewildered, 
he glanced about, and, wandering aimlessly into a secluded 
corner, seated himself. 

It was no long time until his head drooped forward, and 
he fell into a hazy reverie, a fleeting review of the unbe- 
lievable occurrences of the past fortnight. . . . The 
wondrous scene, deep in the clear depths of the crystal. 

. . A Chinese seaport, Nankin perhaps, or Shanghai. 
. The great waters, and the floating palace. . . 
A far, strange land, covered with low spiny bushes, and 
abounding in hairless dogs. . . . And the interpreta- 
tions of the old priest, those ominous words, that, in a few 
transitory moments, had thrown a dam across the channels of 
his old and normal life, and diverted his very purports and 
intentions into courses new and unknown. "The dog with- 
out hair, you must capture one, tame it, be kind to it, and 
care for it until death. It is to be the champion of your soul, 
its protector throughout the hereafter. You, my son, are in a 



His Soul Quest 41 

position of grave danger, for should death overtake you ere 
you accomplish this quest, all is lost, irretrievably, for you 
pass to the black demons of the river. Go at once, cross the 
great water, and seek the future harborer of your soul." 

Coming out of liis reverie, Maika threw a silver coin into 
the outstretched palm and strode out, making rapidly toward 
the south. He rounded a corner and stopped suddenly, rub- 
bing his eyes in amazement. Before him, with doors thrown 
invitingly open, and with its floor covered with soft, clean 
straw, stood a gigantic four-wheeled jinrikisha. A great red 
box, decorated with a black cross in a white circle, and bearing 
a cryptic inscription, which, to one acquainted with the lingo 
of the yards, would read "Santa Fe." 

Maika climbed gratefully in, and, sinking into a corner, 
fell into the deep and restful sleep of one long weary. Nor 
did he know when, a few hours later, the doors were closed, 
and his improvised bed was coupled in with a long train of 
others, and started upon its long and tedious journey inland. 

Ill 

A harsh grating, and a sudden jarring stop, awoke the 
voyager from his slumbers. He sat up, and glancing about 
him gave an involuntary gasp. The car, save for a narrow 
shaft of light that filtered its way through a rift in the tightly 
closed door, was pitch dark ! He sprang to his feet, and, 
collecting his scattered wits, vainly attempted to force open 
the door ; but it was hopeless. A cold sweat broke upon his 
forehead as he realized that he was a prisoner in this strange 
and unseemly conveyance. 

A deep and mortal fear seized his soul, and in desperation 
he pounded furiously upon the unyielding wood. The sound 
of footsteps outside the car, and some one spoke in a rough 
interrogatory voice. Maika, not comprehending, answered 
with an equally incomprehensible plea for liberation. The 



42 The Magazine 

door, under pressure from outside, slid open, and the 
trembling, thoroughly cowed son of Indo fell forth. 

"A Chink, b'dam ; ye blithering yillow divil, git tuhhell- 
away from heah." The rough and strident voice grated hard 
upon the sensitive ears of the Oriental, and a vicious kick 
augmented further the invitation to move on. 

Maika, with the fear of man in his soul, scuttled off to 
haven in the deep red ditch that lined the yards. He flung 
himself prone upon the bottom, and, burrowing his head 
beneath his arms, poured forth the tears of his mixed 
emotions. So it was that Maika Bijad IX, royal personage, 
heir apparent to the throne of Eyar-Wymai, heralded not 
by the advance of courtiers, nor by the fanfare of trumpets — 
but unsung and unknown — came into the great river 
metropolis known colloquially as "Saint Looey." 

For several hours he lay, still immobile, till the gnawing 
pangs in his middle prompted him to go forth in search of 
forage. He ventured out, and soon located another little 
white-tiled establishment similar to the one in Quay Street; 
and, directing his steps toward it, he spied directly in his 
path a lean, hungry-appearing dog of the hairless variety ! 
As a bubble his troubles vanished — for was not before him in 
the reality of flesh and blood the object of his search? 

His old flaunting courage returned. A pagan yell, and a 
mighty leap, and he was after his quarry; but the dog, in- 
spired suddenly with a gripping, holy terror, tucked his tail 
between his legs and fled, leading the race, Maika a close 
and ever-gaining second. St. Louis stopped, gasped, and 
watched, events transpiring too rapidly for comment. 

Skidding, swerving, avoiding miraculously the clutch of 
would-be detainers, the race continued. The Oriental, ap- 
proaching rapidly his vantage point, was even now bending 
low, ready to seize his prey, when, swish, the outstretched 
hand of the rushing Maika clawed empty air, and his own 



His Soul Quest 43 

progress was suddenly and sharply checked. He glanced 
upward and beheld the owner of the hand that was slowly 
throttling him; that same deft hand that had inveigled the 
luckless canine into his net, and he found himself in the 
hands of the law ! 

IV 

The pound at St. Louis does not resemble the great and 
much more stately limestone structure that stood just across 
the way. This remarkable edifice, some time vulgarly re- 
ferred to as a "jail," was adorned at the head of its high 
marble steps with the statue of a beautiful woman upholding 
a pair of balances, referred to usually by the local wags as 
"Mis' Justice" ; and indeed it has happened that men after 
once entering its frowning portals have strode forth again, 
free, save for the musty odor occasioned by the murky damp- 
ness of the place. But not so the pound of St. Louis ! Pity 
the canine so luckless as to pass once through its rusty 
gratings — for him all hope is lost. His respite is brief. He 
knows but briefly the asphyxiating joys of illuminating gas, 
and then, going the way of numerous predecessors, he passes 
into the open court, en route to the incinerator. 

So it all happened that the little, lithe, hairless participant, 
and winner in the race of yesterday, lay stark and stiff with 
a heap of similar forms upon the little push cart, midway 
between the gas room and incinerator, left there by Kadi en. 
keeper of the pound, as he rushed off, swearing, in answer 
to the jangling summons of the 'phone bell. 

"H'lo, H'lo ; yes, Radien, Raclien, keeper'pound. 
Yes, who ? . Several. . . . Divil of a hurry 

now, stiff cart stalled ha'way. . . . Chink? JSTo, can't 
stop now. . . . Yes. W-H-A-T ? . . . Gwan with 
yer kiddin', I'm a busy man. . . . JSTaw? . 



44 The Magazine 

Graashus, goshallding, don't; aw, jedge, have a heart. 

. . H'lo, H'lo, central; H'lo, dammit; H'lo 

"Well, I'll be dumbfuzzled, a snithering, greasy Chink — 
lost his soul, an' the divil's to pay — a naked dog that's done 
sniffed out, an' now this Chink, an' a haffa day's worth goes 
a-gallapopoosa. Well, an' they calls this a. age of inlight- 
ment an' civlizashun !" 

The rusty grating opened upon its rustier hinges, and 
Maika, accompanied by a towering and smiling officer, 
entered. Radien, too angry by far for words, pointed mutely 
toward the open court, and sank limply into a chair. 

The officer, speaking encouragingly, accompanied Maika 
to the carrion, and assisted him in dumping the pathetic little 
load, and in scattering the bodies into the semblance of a 
circle. With a hearty word of encouragement, and a vigorous 
slap upon the back he made his departure, leaving Maika, 
silhouetted sharply against the setting sun, as he squatted 
Oriental fashion within the circle of stark, cold little forms, 
vainly endeavoring to select the one that was to be the future 
harborer of his soul. For he was growing weary, tired of 
this land of miracles and strangers, and he longed for his 
native hills. He pictured himself, bearing triumphantly the 
object of his quest, receiving the confirmation of the old 
priest; even forgot himself so far as to dream of the distant 
future, when he, as King of Nyar-Wymai, would, at the 
annual Eiver Fete, relate to his awe-stricken subjects, the 
tale of how he in his younger days had gone alone into the 
wondrous lands across the sea, and single-handed had defied 
the angry, hostile natives, and, overcoming all obstacles, had 
accomplished successfully his soul quest. 



Rebellion 45 

Rebellion 

P. E. Greene 

I 

Sick of all mirth and her mask of smiles, 

Driven and hurt bj the world's keen whips ; 
Hunger and ache for the miles and miles 

Of rolling woods with their shady dips, 
Luring and far to the high-topped hills, 

Kissing the clouds in an April sky; 
Longing again for the thrush's thrices, 

And the whirr of the partridge going by. 

II 

Oh, well, 'tis the same in this of lies ! 

Tho' prodded and forked at another's will, 

Know that forever thy soul will still 
Follow its course, for all its cries 

Of weary — anveary — weary. 

Ill 

See ! ever and ever the moon goes round, 

Shackled and bound in her lord's great soul ; 
And ever and ever the sun is found 

Racing the skies to his fleeing goal. 
Dawnlight or dusk and the stars swing on 

Circling a center they can not flee; 
And ever the fierce winds to their zone, 

Driven by that which will never be. 
Echo and word and sign and rod 

Time and the Void and babe unborn 

Cry out for peace, but far and worn 

Answers the Voice of Him called God, 

Weary — a-weary — weary. 



46 The Magazine 



Cfte MJorlO Onte0t 

C. T. Leonard 

As the clear and stirring notes of the bugle called the youth 
of America to arms back in 1917, to crush the hosts of im- 
perialism, another voice summons every man now upon the 
campus of the American institution of learning. This is the 
appeal of Justice for men strong in body, mind, and morals 
to aid in bringing to an end the chaos of the present social, 
political, and industrial world. Prussianism has been de- 
feated by Allied armies. "No longer do the muddy expanses 
of Flanders' blood-stained fields reecho with the thunder of 
giant pieces of artillery hurling destruction upon Humanity. 
The battlefields of northern France are being stripped of the 
togs of Mars, and being dressed in the garb of a new civiliza- 
tion. Yet the world is far from a state of wholesome peace. 
The end of the world-war marked the beginning of a new 
war which now has Mankind in its throes. All over the 
world, men and women are struggling for certain political, 
social, and industrial theories. The forces of Labor are 
arrayed against the iron-clad strength of Capital. Bolshev- 
ism is spreading its deadly poison of hatred of all that is 
good in government, which gives every man his freedom 
and right to live peacefully. Like a spark fanned by the 
wind, this great unrest has grown from a mere insignificant 
affair into a very great thing. With every day the fire 
spreads itself. Many people have laid down their lives for 
a principle which they hold as their own. Thousands are 
starving for want of the necessities of existence which they 
are unable to secure as a result of the prevailing unrest. So 
threatening and critical has the situation become that na- 



The World Unrest 47 

tional legislation and armed forces are being called in as aids 
to bring about a peaceful settlement of affairs. Yet all these 
means seem to have only temporary power of settling matters. 
A more vital and fundamental method of bringing peace and 
tranquility out of the chaos and storm is the only solution 
to the problem. Then we wonder what form this method is 
to take, but there is no doubt as to the part which must be 
played by the college man in this process of readjustment 
which is now taking place. 

As stated above, national legislation and arms have failed 
to bring permanent peace to the world of unrest. Labor and 
Capital have attempted to settle their disputes, but theirs has 
only been a short-lived period of agreement. There seems 
to be a danger of Bolshevism spreading itself among the un- 
educated people of the world. All of these conditions seem 
to point a finger of warning toward one object, and that is an 
educational system which will give every man, no matter how 
humble, an opportunity to have an understanding of the 
fundamental principles of government and relationship to his 
fellow-man. The only efficient remedy for any ill is one 
which strikes at the very root of the disease. The remedy for 
the present world-sickness is to give every man the chance to 
learn the whys and wherefores of the political and industrial 
fields of activity. Unless this is done, we need not hope for 
peace and prosperity in the industrial world. The agents of 
Bolshevism are going among the uneducated, and preaching a 
gospel of anarchy which will strike at the very heart of 
American Democracy unless it is checked. The working 
people are being led blindly by labor agitators who pose as 
their friends, but are really using them as a means toward 
their own selfish ends. As long as these unfortunate people 
are kept in darkness, there will always be this lurking danger 
of industrial warfare and ruin for our government. If we do 
not teach them the fundamentals of freedom under demo- 



48 The Magazine 

cratic government, we may have just cause to fear for the 
safety and future of our dear old country. The great need 
of America and the world is trained leaders to guide these 
people out of the darkness of ignorance and misunderstand- 
ing into the light of reason and knowledge. And these leaders 
must come from the colleges and universities of America and 
the world. 

Every man upon Carolina's campus should realize what is 
his duty, and think of the best means of preparing himself 
for the task. As the knights of Arthur's Round Table girded 
themselves with armor and went forth to right all wrongs, 
college men should prepare themselves for the task of saving 
a world of human misunderstanding. As the campus life is 
spent, may every minute be used in preparation for a noble 
mission. Every hour should be so spent as to make each one 
fit, physically, morally, and intellectually. Problems of social 
and political natures should be thoroughly settled by student 
publications and organizations. Every bit of effort exerted 
will prepare every man to better meet the situations of to- 
morrow. Unless one makes the most of his life on the 
campus, he will not make as much of the life in the great 
world of business. He will be less adequately prepared to 
hit the hard realities of to-morrow. Campus life is not a 
stepping-stone to Life, but is Life itself. As we live this 
life, so will we conduct ourselves after these walls of learning 
are left behind. Therefore, every minute should be spent in 
facing the problems of campus life frankly and unafraid ; for 
these problems are similar to those which are staring the 
statesmen and leaders of public thought in the face to-day. 
May we leave these old walls eager and ready to help Mother 
Earth and her children to get back on their feet, and again 
enjoy Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness. 



Song 49 

©ong 

P. E. Greene 

Over the top ! Over the top ! 

Like hell with yer bayonets rushin' ! 
Over the top ! Over the top ! 
An' charge through the mud an' blood splushin' ! 
A groin lunge ! a butt stroke ! 

A gut cut! an' they fall — 
Oh, it's each un for 'isself, 

An' the devil for us all. 

Chorus : 
An' rowdy O, rowdy O ! 
Sleepin' lie the bodies O ! 

Las' taps soon to be blowin' ! 
Rowdy O, an' rowdy O ! 
There above my body O ! 

Green grass soon to be growin'. 

Over the top ! Over the top ! 

An', Son, don't think o' yer mother ! 
Over the top ! Over the top ! 

To-night an' never another ! 
Yer hand up ! yer foot on ! 
Withdraw ! — an' how they call — 
Oh, it's each un for 'isself, 

An' the devil for us all. 

Chorus : 
An' rowdy O, rowdy O ! 
Sewin' in the bodies O ! 

No reveille to be blowin' ! 
Rowdy O, an' rowdy ! 
Where they plant yer buddies O ! 

Green grass soon to be growin'. 



50 The Magazine 



ate KHe TBecommg automatons? 

T. C. Taylor 

The question of individual freedom is perhaps paramount 
in the minds of the American people to-day. We have re- 
solved to settle with ourselves once and for all time the ques- 
tions of how far we are willing to let the other fellow encroach 
on our "rights," the same being guaranteed by the constitu- 
tion. What has brought about this attitude on the part of 
the people? Are we actually doing the Goose Step, and be- 
coming automatons in the hands of a crowd who would regu- 
late, restrain, and prohibit everything that man regards as a 
pleasure ? 

The answer is : We are. We, as a people, are losing the 
rights that are justly ours — rights that no majority has the 
right to take away — rights that are as inherent as life itself. 
We are trying to make people good by throwing around them 
the supposedly protecting meshes of some "good" law. We 
would stop drunkenness by enacting national prohibition, but 
is that, after all, the best way to stop drunkenness ? Is it ? 
In other words, can we keep away from temptation by re- 
moving just one object of temptation ? Which is the better, 
that I should win a great moral victory and keep away from 
liquor, or that the liquor should be taken away from me in 
the same way that we would take a poisonous object from a 
little child ? It's a serious question. On one hand, we have 
the reformer, who, like the orthodox Mohammedan, thinks 
that he is right, and, since there can be but one right, every 
one else is wrong. On the other hand, we have that great 
mass of American people who think that they are thoroughly 
capable of steering their own course without any outside as- 



Are We Becoming Automatons? 51 

sistance in the way of reforms and prohibition. And those 
who think are bound to see the eternal correctness of his 
contention. ~Now, don't misunderstand me. I'm not for one 
instant arguing that prohibition, properly arrived at, is not 
a good thing. Liquor is undoubtedly a curse to mankind, 
but in some way some sort of curses seem to be necessary. 
We are men, and being men are supposed to be capable of 
managing our own lives without the assistance of some Pussy- 
foot who insists that prohibition is the universal panacea for 
all the evils men fall heir to. If we are going to pretend to 
be men, then let's be men, and if I am to stop drinking then 
let ME do the stopping. If I stop voluntarily it's a moral 
victory as big as all creation, but let some one else stop me and 
it's only covering fires that will smolder indefinitely and some 
day break out with more energy than ever before. So with 
the dance halls that the ministers of Asheville and Charlotte 
have lately flayed in such uncompromising fashion. They 
are beginning at the wrong end. A snake has never yet been 
killed by merely slapping him gently on the tail. He is only 
stirred to greater activity. Take away legitimate dance halls, 
and you invite halls that are in no sense of the word legiti- 
mate. From decent places supervised by reputable people 
you have the place that is in hiding; the place of doubtful 
reputation ; a menace to the community. People are 
PEOPLE, and you can't get away from that fact. If these 
well-meaning ministers would only remember that when 
preaching a great reform their efforts might not be such a 
dismal failure. You are yourself, and if you wish to do a 
thing that does not concern any one else but yourself, you 
have that right. It's your own business. 

Now, what is the danger that lurks in all this propaganda 
for prohibition, for regulation, for restriction ? It is a law 
of nature that the natural state of a body is a state of rest. If 
you throw a rock into the air it will fall ; or, if a pendulum 



52 The Magazine 

is started to swinging it will move far out of its natural 
position and swing back and forth until a state of complete 
rest is reached. The same law of physics holds true in the 
case under consideration. We know that the pendulum of 
human growth and development and civilization swings very 
slowly, but we know it swings and that it obeys the general 
law. The only question is how far we can push this indi- 
vidual pendulum out into space until it shall gain the upper 
hand and start back. Shall we abolish tobacco, make people 
go to church on Sundays, and devise a code of laws that will 
make mere machines out of men by prescribing what they 
shall do and what they shall not do ? What value has moral 
character if there is no temptations to resist, or of a backbone 
if we are to be sissy mollycoddles of men ? The weak must 
be weeded out by some process if we are to remain intact as a 
nation, and by the same process the strong must prevail. 
Machine-made men can not stand on their own feet, and 
nations are made up of men. When shall we learn this 
lesson ? 



The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

The Magazine, University of North Carolina, is published by the 
Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. Its object is to gather 
together what is best in the literary life of the students and give ex- 
pression to it. 

EDITORIAL STAFF 

J. P. Washburn, Phi Editor-in-Chief 

T. C. Wolfe, Di Assistant Editor-in-Chief 

ASSISTANT EDITORS 

W. R. Bebryhill, Di. P. Hettleman, Phi. 

W. Le G. Blythe, Di. J. H. Kerr, Jr., Phi. 

W. B. Womble, Phi. 

MANAGERS 

G. D. Crawford, Di Business Manager 

D. D. Topping, Phi. ) . . M . ,, 

W. A. Gardner, Phi. \ Assrstant Managers 

TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION, $1.00 A YEAR 



4? 


editorials 


* 



The Magazine wishes to be popular, but it does not wish 
to be popular at the expense of losing the very thing for 
which it was created — to provide a medium through which 
the literary life of the University might be expressed. The 
Magazine has its place on the campus to-day as never before, 
for with the coming of the Tar Baby it is now relieved of a 
function that it has attempted to perform for many years, 
that of attempting to be funny. 

The one idea of The Magazine board this year is to put 
out a literary production, and to do this it needs "your" 



54 The Magazine 

help. The life of The Magazine depends upon "you," for to 
live it must have contributions, and contributions must come 
from the student body at large, and not from just a few- 
individuals who are especially interested in literary work. 
We want every man "especially" interested ; so write some- 
thing and make The Magazine your own magazine. 



Now men, when you enter the library, remember that 
there is some one in there who may want to study. That is 
not a place to carry on a conversation. If you have to talk, 
go outside. A young lady from N". C. College gave a very 
just criticism of our library system. She said, "You are not 
quiet enough." 

Another thing. All those daily newspapers and magazines 
have to be bound for future use in the library. Won't you 
feel tough when you pick up a bound copy of the Greensboro 
News or the American Magazine next year and find that half 
of the piece which you wanted to read is gone? Some 
thoughtless fellow cut it out for his own personal use. Again, 
those marks in the magazines are not the marks of gentlemen. 
Let's remember always that there is some one else in the 
world besides ourselves. This is just a little reminder, for 
we all know that no true Carolina man would do anything 
which has been mentioned in the above, if he gave it a single 
minute's thought. The library is ours ; will we make it the 
very best for all concerned, or are we selfish in regard to our 

br0ther? C. W. Phillips. 



'HEYO' 



One of the best indications of the true Carolina man is 
in his form of salutation. However strange this may seem 
at first thought, if you will only think it over, you will very 
likely come to the same conclusion. 



Editorial 55 

The "Heyo, gentlemen" is distinctly a characteristic of 
the Carolina man. When the new man comes to the campus 
he greets you with "Howdy you do," or some other such 
greeting, all of which is in perfect accordance with social 
etiquette. But watch him after a few months on the campus. 
The intangible Carolina spirit, instilled in him from the 
time he sets foot on the Hill, is beginning to express itself 
through the medium of the salutation, "Heyo." 

Like the term "kalos," the old Greeks used for all that 
was to them fine and gentlemanly, there is more meaning 
crammed into "Heyo" than can well be expressed. If an 
Athenian had the fine qualities of high ideals that we loved so 
much in Dr. Graham, he was "kalos." In short, "kalos" was 
a symbol for high ideals, noble aspirations, and clean living 
to the Athenians. And so, on the Carolina campus, the word 
"Heyo," insignificant as it may seem and unconsciously as it 
may be used, is but the expression of the fine qualities of the 
Carolina gentleman. 

W. R. Berryhtll. 



DOES THIS MEAN YOU? 

You are an average Carolina man. You probably part 
your hair nearer the middle than "any assigned quantity, 
however small" ; and not only that, but the chances are that 
in the run of an average day you sing "I'm Forever Blowing 
Bubbles" at least fourteen times. But these things, interest- 
ing though they may be, are not the subject of this article. 
They are merely put there to attract your attention. So just 
read on. 

Being a Carolina man, you are probably addicted to the 
habit of thinking some at specified times, and under certain 
conditions. The chances are, in fact, that you think more 
than most men of your age and worldly experience, but this 



56 The Magazine 

should not be considered as complimentary. Now, here comes 
the question: Did you ever stop to think and weigh and 
measure honestly just what you are getting out of your stay 
at the University ? What are you doing here, anyway ? Did 
it ever occur to you that you are not getting your money's 
worth ? 

Here's a man. You know him and I know him. He aims 
at a "4" on 1-2 Math. He longs to see the day when he shall 
have passed enough courses to get his diploma, whether he 
really knows anything about the courses or not. That's en- 
tirely immaterial; the big thing is that everlasting "sheep- 
skin." A "grat" is a blessing sent from on high, and is to be 
regarded as such. The thought that he is being cheated out of 
something that justly belongs to him has never entered his 
mind. The University is just some great big vague institu- 
tion that is going to force down on his rebellious disposition 
a foundation for worldly success. Everything must come 
from without. He takes learning merely because of much 
exposure to it. 

Now, you know and I know that this is an entirely wrong 
conception of what the University can and should do for a 
man. Nothing can be more certain than the fact that a man 
can not get more out of a thing, let it be whatever it may, 
than he puts into it. Something for nothing has always been 
impossible, and in this day it takes a pretty big something to 
get even a medium-sized nothing. No man nor institution 
can force an education upon you, and by an education I don't 
simply mean the procuring of a diploma. An education is 
an individual matter, and in its completeness should stretch 
over and beyond the requirements for graduation in a 
thousand different ways. The University can give you 
nothing; it can merely provide the opportunity for you to 
do the most work in the shortest time. The University is a 
workshop — an ideal, and in many ways a delightful work- 



Editorial 57 

shop, to be sure — but it is a workshop, and we are the workers. 
We strive to erect a structure which we call an education. 
It is not that, properly speaking ; it is only the beginning of 
an education. Experienced builders are here to direct us in 
our task, but the work must remain forever ours. The 
structure we build is our structure, and it must of necessity 
serve as a foundation for all the other things that are to 
come after. Does it not stand us in hand, then, to do our 
best while we are at it ? 

T. C. Taylor. 



58 The Magazine 



Cfte JOealtem of tfje average College StuDent 

T. C. Taylor 

College men in general might be considered as one great 
family. They have so many things in common that any line 
of division or distiction of classes or groups is impossible. 
Some one has said that the only true Aristocracy is the 
Aristocracy of the Educated. If we could assume that the 
colleges turn out an educated product with a fair degree of 
uniformity, then the Diploma would entitle one to entrance 
into this Aristocracy. Unfortunately, however, not all col- 
lege men are educated, and all educated men are not gradu- 
ates of colleges. Great erudition may be accompanied with 
only a fair degree of intelligence, and the opposite of this is 
also true. 

However, there is one thing that all college men can lay a 
common hold. A staunch idealism, which looks forever up, 
and not down, seems to be the common heritage of those who 
seek the higher learning. Whether it is a prerequisite to 
such thought and study, or whether it is developed by the 
colleges themeslves, it is hard to say. " Colleges," says 
Emerson, "have their indispensable office — to teach elements 
— but they can only highly serve us when they aim not to 
drill, but to create; when they gather from far every ray 
of various genius to their hospitable walls, and by the con- 
centrated fires set the hearts of their youth on flame." Yes- 
terday the tale of a wrong committed in another quarter of 
the globe nearly left the colleges desolated ; to-day the ideal 
of higher service to humanity through increased knowledge 
and capacity for leadership floods the institutions of the 
land with a swarm of serious-minded young men. They 



Idealism of the Average College Student 59 

are thoroughly, even fiercely, democratic. To know truth; 
to tear aside the veil that obscures shams so that they often 
pass for realities ; to place their finger on the naked soul of 
humanity, and share its joys and griefs, and in some way 
make its common lot better — these are some of the things 
that lead men from the outer darkness into the light; and, 
by their confined and pent-up effort, we may hope that the 
world will ultimately be made a better place to live in. 



60 The Magazine 



9 Jfre0l)man , ©torp 

W. J. A. 

Most boys plan for years ahead every detail of the be- 
ginning of their college career, and know things as they are 
going to be in all minuteness. They have inquired into every 
feature of Chapel Hill; can converse knowingly upon the 
possibilities of Swain Hall; and, I dare say, know a bit 
about the standing of some fraternities. 

This interest and information is where the average boy 
had the better of me. I came here on October the 1st, 1919, 
with everything to learn that was learnable. Not that I was 
not excited over the idea of coming to the University of North 
Carolina, but because I came more or less suddenly and had 
no time to plan everything out. All my life I had wanted 
to go to West Point, but this summer I found that the army 
was content to ramble along without me, so I immediately 
diverted all my attentions to the "next in standing," the 
University of North Carolina. 

I came here under complications. First of all was a sad 
lack of units, and, for that reason, on the morning of the 
2d of October, I was standing in the hall of the Alumni 
Building, with all the horrible tortures of entrance exami- 
nations running through my mind, and trying to get reason 
out of a lot of abbreviations called a schedule, when an old 
student came up to me and asked, so sincerely, if he could 
help me out in any way. Nor was he the only one who 
wanted to be of assistance, but it was this Junior, as I now 
know him to be, who really helped me. Then my first im- 
pression was that of cordiality on the part of the old students. 
I suppose this fact impressed me more because I had last 



A Freshman's Story 61 

attended school in New York, where, with all due respect 
to the "busy North, " they do not bother themselves to any 
great extent in kindnesses to a "slow Southerner." It was 
when that Junior wanted to help me that the thing which 
Dr. Chase says, "makes a Carolina man," struck me. I felt 
then the Carolina spirit. The brotherhood and willingness 
to help a Freshman, shown by that old student, made me 
say to myself, "He really wants to help me. He has an 
actual interest in me because I am trying to become part of 
the body of students which go to make up his University of 
North Carolina." 

That Carolina spirit which I am now so proud to possess 
will never die. Even though I fail on the entrance exami- 
nation I am about to take, I will always be a Carolina man 
at heart. 

Another thing I noticed particularly was the faculty. One 
day I saw a group of four professors coming up the walk 
behind the Alumni building. They were laughing and talk- 
ing in merry voices of a certain ball game; ignoring abso- 
lutely the almighty dignity, not expected, but commonly seen 
among the Doctors of the Robe. If my comparison will be 
excused again, I could not refrain from trying to imagine 
some of the Northern professors on their way to class in so 
apparently gleeful mood, but I could not conceive of such 
delightful disregard of dignity by any professor other than a 
"Carolina man." 

There are many other instances I could tell wherein a 
Freshman was made to love his University of North Caro- 
lina; but even if the Junior had not wanted to help and 
the professors looked down upon me with all the haughtiness 
of a third-term president, I would still have learned to love 
this old University, as the thousands before me have loved 
her and as the future generations will love her. 

May God and the men of North Carolina preserve her — 
our University. 



02 The Magazine 

Carolina— jFall 1919 

John S. Terry 

With mighty yearnings stirs the heart of Carolina, stirs the 

heart of our Alma Mater, 
For strong young men with eager, joyful faces, full of pride 

and power, 
Virile, victorious youths return to her 
Out of a restless world, weary, war-worn, restless, torn by 

Russian Bolshevik — 
Torn by American Republicans (politicians 
Who kill the good and mighty impulses, selfish, 
Ambitious for self and party, unheeding humanity's heart, 
Racking Wilson, the lover of men, the idealist, world 

builder). 
And during the first nights the students are wild, rowdy, 

reckless 
Pistols bark out on the roadway ! 

But this is given over. Men live and move by old South bell. 
Sonorous, strong-voiced, calling you to duty and pleasure. 
"What will they do, these youthful ones ?" 
"What do they as they walk to and fro on the campus V 9 asks 

Carolina. 
O Alma Mater, even as in ages past, 
Each has his different story. 
Some will sit at Wisdom's feet, and learn the mysteries of 

earth and nature. 
Some will sit by soda fountains, and learn the sweet joy of 

drinks at Pat's. 
Into the hearts of some will sink 

The beauty of this quiet spot, the calm of lovely spaces, 
The majesty of age-old trees. 



Carolina— Fall 1919 63 

Some will live the Parson's creed, and get in harmony with 
their universe. 

Some will slip into easy chairs before victrolas, sibilant, 
. soothing — 

Will boot some frats, and, if unchosen by mystic brotherhoods, 

Will break their hearts. 

The one will lazy around, squander his time, so freely given, 

In boisterous bull sessions. Coach Campbell will make foot- 
ball stars of some. 

The Pickwick, in its cavernous maw, will 

Digest thousands of precious hours. 

Some will sit in labs and search out nature's secrets (some 
will only scratch them out). 

Some will feel the spell of Piney Prospect, 

So full of memories — will look unto the hills, 

Will feel the joy of comradeship with the everlasting hills, 

The path-strewn woods, 

The small stream, slowly moving onward. 

Some, after nightfall, will move their fingers gently over 

Stringed instruments, spreading joy to the campus air. 

Some will digest thoughts that, developing, will revolutionize 
the minds of men. 

Some will only digest Swain Hall beans 

But enough, O Alma Mater, 

Away with chaffing, you know and love them all, 

The living, loving, virile young men. 

And something of your beauty will sink into their souls : 

The beauty of the stars on clear nights (they 

Seem so near in Chapel Hill), 

The joy of companionship, the quietness of the soul 

That comes from pure joy, the joy of men, swapping their 
fun and quick jest ; 

They joy in glorious living, as they absorb your glorious 
spirit — 

The spirit of Carolina. 



64 The Magazine 

Their love for you is proved, they swarm back to you, 

The students of former years. 

Your heart yearns mightily for them, 

As it does for them that we miss so, 

Those who died gallantly true. 

But bright is your face as the faces 

Of those you so eagerly welcome. 

If those who are gone were just with us, 

Perfect would be our great happiness. 



ADVERTISEMENTS 



DRUGGISTS REXALL STORE 

PATTERSON BROS. 



SHAEFFER AND WATERMAN FOUNTAIN PENS 
NORRIS CANDIES CUT FLOWERS 

Symphony Lawn, Gentlemen Club, Carlton Club — Correct 
Stationery for Gentlemen 



THE CAROLINA MANS SHOE STORE 

When we have said that we have said it all, because they 
know good shoes and they always get them at 

CARR-BRYANT'S 
CARR-BRYANTS BOOT and SHOE CO, 

106 WEST MAIN ST., DURHAM, N. C. 



When in Greensboro, Stop in at 

I. ISAACSON 

For Nifty Young Men's Clothes and Furnish- 
ings at Moderate Prices 



R. Blacknall & Son 

DRUGGISTS 
GEER BLDG., OPP. POST-OFFICE DURHAM, N. C, 

FIRST-CLASS CANDIES 

HEADQUARTERS FOR CAROLINA MEN 

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ADVERTISEMENTS 



GONE CRAZY? YES— EVERYTHING AND 
EVERYBODY— 

but don't worry about other folk's trouble. You sure have to wear 

clothes, regardless of crazy prices. We are all making money and 

ought to be happy. Come in and let's get acquainted. 

CLOTHING AND FURNISHING 
DONNELL & MEDEARIS, Inc. 

GREENSBORO NORTH CAROLINA 



The Yarborough 

Raleigh's Leading and Largest Hotel 

THE YARBOROUGH CAFE 

ONE OF THE BEST IN THE SOUTH 

Special Attention to Dinner Parties and Banquets 

B. H. GRIFFIN HOTEL CO. 



THE EFIRD CHAIN 

of Department Stores 

We operate Department Stores throughout North and 

South Carolina. The Efird Chain is the greatest in the 

Carolinas. When in Raleigh and Durham, visit our 

stores— "WE SELL IT FOR LESS." 

EFIRD DEPARTMENT STORE 

RALEIGH NORTH CAROLINA 



THE 


BANK 


OF CHAPEL 


HILL 


M. C. S. NOBLE 
President 


R. L. STROWD 
Vice-President 


M. 


E. HOGAN 

Cashier 


OLDEST 


AND STRONGEST BANK IN 


ORANGE COUNTY 



PLEASE PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS 



AD VER T I SEMEN TS 



ATTENTION, UNIVERSITY MEN! 

When in Greensboro, Stop at the 

HUFFINE HOTEL 

At the Passenger Depot — First- Class Dining-Room and 
Quick Lunch Room 

J. It. DONNELL, Manager and Proprietor 



THE BEST SHOES FOR YOU 

Are those that combine the best in style and quality. 
We have them. 
NETTLETON AND HURLEY BRANDS FOR MEN 
COUSIN'S, GROVER'S AND SELBY'S FOR LADIES 
MERRIAM CHILDREN'S SHOES 

OURS IS THE MOST COMPLETE STOCK IN DURHAM 

PERRY-HORTON COMPANY 



EVERYTHING IN STATIONERY AT 

Foister's 

KODAKS DEVELOPING ENLARGING 

SUPPLIES PRINTING FRAMING 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 



A SHOP FOR COLLEGE BOYS 

SOCIETY BRAND CLOTHES— MANHATTAN SHIHTS 

Always Something New in Haberdashery and Hats 
10 Per Cent Discount to College Men 

THE VOGUE 

RALEIGH NORTH CAROLINA 

PLEASE PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS 



AD VER T I SEMEN TS 



GOOCH'S CAFE 

The place of good eats for the hungry man. Midnight 

lunches a specialty. 

"CAROLINA MEN FIRST" 

s 



BROADWAY CAFE 

OPPOSITE POST-OFFICE GREENSBORO, N. C. 

CATERS TO COLLEGE MEN 



Anything You Want — Call 

Odell Hardware Co, 

GREENSBORO 



EUBANKS DRUG COMPANY 

OFFERS 27 YEARS' EXPERIENCE 
BOYS, LET "LONG" BILL JONES 

DO YOUR PRESSING 

CLEANING— ALTERING— REPAIRING 

SAME GOOD WORK Next Door to Chapel Hill News 



CALL ON 

S. E. POYTHRESS 

FOR 
FRUITS, CIGARS, CIGARETTES, CAKES, CANDIES, ETC. 

Next Door to Post-Office 



PLEASE PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS 



ADVERTISEMENTS 



A. A. Kluttz Co. 

EVERYTHING FOR THE STUDENT 



THE ROYALL & BORDEN CO. 

Corner Main and Market Sts. Durham, North Carolina 

Takes pleasure in advertising in the University publica- 
tions, and invites the Students, Faculty, and friends of 
the Great Institution to trade with us when they need 

FURNITURE AND RUGS 

AGENTS FOR COLUMBIA GRAFONOLAS AND RECORDS 



The Greensboro Daily News 



Is the favorite newspaper of many North Caro- 
lina people, because its broad liberal policy and 
its excellent news service appeals to them. 
North Carolina is a great state, and the Daily 
News stands for those things which tend to up- 
build it. 

Keep abreast with present-day events by subscrib- 
ing for the Daily News. 



$7.00 PER YEAR 



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ADVERTISEMENTS 



THE ALUMNI REVIEW 

Monthly Journal of the General Alumni Association of 
the University of North Carolina. A live publication 
that will keep you in touch with the University — inside 
and outside. $1.50 PER YEAR. 



FIX UP YOUR ROOM 

RUGS, ROCKERS, PICTURES, CURTAINS, BOOKCASES — in fact, 
everything for the student's room 

E. A. BROWN 

CHAPEL HILL NORTH CAROLINA 



PERRY & LLOYDS' BARBER SHOP 

IN NEW BUILDING— NEXT TO PEOPLES BANK 
SIX CHAIRS ALL NEW EQUIPMENT 



Jones & Frasier Company 

JEWELERS DURHAM, N. C. 

ENGRAVED STATIONERY 
We solicit your business. Estimates and de- 
signs furnished on any college jewelry 



PLEASE PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS 



ADVERTISEMENTS 




When a young man signs a contract with the SOUTHERN 
LIFE AND TRUST COMPANY, we don't pat him on the back, 
turn him loose and tell him to "go to it." We give him a course 
in our Training School, and then keep in touch with him and help 
overcome his weak points and strengthen his strong points. As 
a result, our Training School graduates are making good. 

Ask for particulars. 

SOUTHERN LIFE AND TRUST CO. 

GREENSBORO, N. C. 

A. W. McALISTER, President R. J. MEBANE, Third Vice-Pres. 

R. G. VAUGHN, First Vice-Pres. ARTHUR WATT, Secretary 

A. M. SCALES, Second Vice-Pres. H. B. GUNTER, Assistant Secretary 



PLEASE PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS 




'"pHIS Magazine is a fair 
sample of our work in 
printing of this nature. 
We specialize in Annuals, 
Hand-books, Stationery for 
Fraternities and Sororities, 
Dance Cards, Programs, In- 
vitations, Club Booklets, etc. 
Samples and prices gladly 
submitted upon request. 



J. P. Bell Co., inc 

Printers, Stationers, Engravers, 
Booksellers 

Lynchburg, Virginia 




A D VER TI SEMEN TS 



THIS SPACE RESERVED FOR 

American Tru£t Company 

CHARLOTTE, N. C. 

THE O. HENRY 

The pride of Greensboro and North Carolina's finest 

and best Commercial and Tourist Hotel 

200 ROOMS 200 BATHS 

WADE H. LOWRY, Manager 



YOU WILL 
HAVE 

absolute assurance of 
smart, correct style, fab- 
ric exclusiveness and 
standard quality of tail- 
oring when you pur- 
chase your clothes of us. 




Pritchard-Bright Co, 



DURHAM, N. C. 



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MAGAZINE 

University of North Carolina 







HOLIDAY NUMBER 



December, 1919 



ADVER T I SEMEN TS 



The University of North Carolina 

Maximum Service to the People of the State 



A. THE COLLEGE OF LIBERAL ARTS 

B. THE SCHOOL OF APPLIED SCIENCE 

(1) Chemical Engineering 

(2) Electrical Engineering 

(3) Civil and Road Engineering 

(4) Soil Investigation 

C. THE GRADUATE SCHOOL 

D. THE SCHOOL OF LAW 

E. THE SCHOOL OF MEDICINE 

F. THE SCHOOL OF PHARMACY 

G. THE SCHOOL OF EDUCATION 
H. THE SUMMER SCHOOL 

I. THE SCHOOL OF COMMERCE 

J. THE BUREAU OF EXTENSION 

Literary Societies, Student Publications, Student-Ac- 
tivity Organizations, Y. M. C. A. 

Gymnasium and Swimming Pool, Two Athletic Fields, 
Twenty-four Tennis Courts, Indoor and Outdoor Basket- 
Bail Courts. 

Military Training Under Competent Officers. 

82,000- Volume Library, 800 Current Periodicals. 



Write to the University When You Need 
Help 



For Information Eegarding the University, Address — 
THOMAS J. WILSON, Jr., Registrar 

PLEASE PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS 



ADVERTISEMENTS 



Make Our Store Your Meeting Place When 
in RALEIGH 

Tucker Building Pharmacy 



E. 


V. 


HOWELL 


President 




R. H. WARD, 


Vice-President 








The 


Peoples 


Bank 












LUECO LLOYD, Vice-President 






C. 


B. 


GRIFFIN, 


Cashier 


R. 


P. ANDREWS 


Asst. 


Cashier 



When in Need of Gents' Furnishings, Call on 

Andrews Cash Store Co, 

Walkover and Ealston Shoes 
Arrow Shirts and Collars, Ties, Hats, Etc. 

J. D. SHAW, College Agent 



California and Florida Fruits Tobacco and Cigars 

ESSIE BROTHERS 
CANDY KITCHEN 

Ice-Cream Parlor Fresh Candies 

"WE STRIVE TO PLEASE" 



PLEASE PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS 



ADVERTISEMENTS 



Scbiffman Jewelry Company 

LEADING JEWELERS 

GREENSBORO, N. C. 

Any one can cut prices — but it takes brains to 
produce real value 



"Let's Meet and Eat" at the 

HENNESSEE CAFE 

GREENSBORO NORTH CAROLINA 

C. C. SHOFFNER, Proprietor and Manager 



PIANOS PLAYER PIANOS 

This Store Is a Gateway to the Whole World of 

VICTROLA MUSIC 

Any instrument or record made by the Victor Company can be bought 

through us. A hearty invitation is extended to music lovers to visit 

us frequently, whether they desire a demonstration of the Victrola, or 

just to listen to some of their favorite music. 



"[he fiorteii Amnsou 



DUnriMlvl NORTH CAROLINA 

GUITARS AND BANJOS UKULELES 



C. S. PENDERGRAFT 
CHAPEL HILL AND DURHAM AUTO LINE 

LEAVE CHAPEL HILL LEAVE DURHAM 

8:30 A. M. 9:50 A. M. 

10:20 A. M. <^&DAILY SCHEDULER 12:40 P. M. 

2:30 P. M. 5:08 P. M. 

4:00 P. M. 8:00 P. M. 

Eight Years of Prompt Service to University Men 

The All-Weather Man With the Carolina Spirit"— WE CATER TO "FEEDS" 



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ADVERTISEMENTS 




A Gateway — Electrical 



ONLY a forty-foot gateway bounded 
by two brick pilasters and orna- 
mental lamps, but unlike any other 
gateway in the entire world. 

For back of it is the General Electric 
Company's main office building, ac- 
commodating 2300 employees. And 
just next door is its laboratory with 
the best equipment for testing, stand- 
ardizing and research at thecommand 
of capable engineers. Then down the 
street— a mile long— are other build- 
ings where everything electrical, from 
the smallest lamp socket to the huge 
turbines for electrically propelled bat- 
1 tleships, is made by the20,000 electrical 



workers who daily stream through. 

What a story this gate would tell, if 
it could, of the leaders of the electrical 
industry and business, of ambassa- 
dors from other institutions and from 
foreign lands. 

The story would be thehistory of elec- 
tric lighting, electric transportation, 
electric industrials and electricity in 
the home. 

This gateway, as well as the research, 
engineering, manufacturing and com- 
mercial resources back of it, is open 
to all who are working for the better- 
ment of the electrical industry. 



Illustrated bulletin, Y-863, describing the company's 
several plants, will be mailed upon request. Address 
General Electric Company, Desk 43, Schenectady, New York 



General Offi 
Scheneciady.NI 



GeneialWElectric 



ss Company safs^ssi 



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ADVERTISEMENTS 



Vanstory Clothing Co. 

Invites you to inspect their 
line of 

YOUNG MEN'S CLOTHING 

Exclusive Agent for Society Brand and Stein 
Bloch Clothing. These makes 

$40 to $65 

Vanstory Clothing Co. 

GREENSBORO, N. C. 



CY THOMPSON SAYS— 

There is a distinct difference in New England 
Mutual Policies — they have ALWAYS provided 
superior service. 

Eeinstate and convert your Government in- 
surance. Ask for expert advice and information 
about the New Government Policies. 

Before you contract to buy or sell, see us or write 
CYRUS THOMPSON, Jr., District Mgr. 

New England Mutual Life Ins. Co. 

OPPOSITE CAMPUS CHAPEL HILL 

"PERFECTION IN PROTECTION" 

PLEASE PATRONIZE OUR ADVERTISERS 



The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 
Old Series Vol. 50 Number 2 New Series Vol. 37 



Contents 

PAGE 

December (Verse). P. E. Green 67 

The Other Side. C. J. Parker 68 

The Song of the City (Verse). John Gilliam, Proctor 73 

Other Judases. P. E. Green 75 

The Eobber House. W. L. Blythe 84 

Memory (Verse). Garland B. Porter 91 

The Call of the Bells. Ewart W. G. Huffman 92 

"Le Vieil Omnibus" (Verse). P. E. Green 103 

u Once a Thief " W. Edwin Matthews 104 

Night Song (Verse). Ewart W. G. Huffman 108 

Emilie Rose Knox. W. Edwin Matthews 110 

Editorials Ill 

Night 118 



Christmas 



fitr be stars in tbe Distance bafce begun 
^ to take on a brighter ligbt. €be 
moon beams? Doton from on bigb* as if 
inspires toitb neto life* &be crofcoing 
of tbe cock is bears in ttje earlg part of 
tbe nigbt. €be nigbts continue to 
groto longer, ana tbe air is filleu toitb 
a cutting col&ness tbat stimulates tbe 
Deptb of tbe most lotah? soul to tbougbts 
of greater life, of purer libing. Cbil 
Drens eges begin to sparkle fcoitb neto 
life, and tbeir imagination txtmts& to 
tbe uppermost beigbt of tbings longer 
for, anu Desires to be satisfieD. Cbeg 
tbink of onlg one tbing, and experience 
onlg tbe jog tbat comes fcoitb it* fnU 
filmeut. Cbe snoijo in all its tobite; 
ness cofcers ebergtbing like an infinite 
tobite sbeet, anD sparkles in tbe ligbt 
of tbe net© moon. 23ells begin to ring 
out tbeir merrg cbimes, senDing jog to 
etoerg beart. College #tubznt# sit 
arounD tbe glotaing fire anD talk of tbe 
bappiness ano jogs tbat come toitb tol 
lege life. €foerg soul, no matter bote) 
small or large, i& at peace toitb tbe 

toorlD, ..... for f ti& Cbristmas 

Ebank <0od for sucb a glorious Dag. 



The Magazine 

University of North Tarolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 
Old Series Vol. 50 Number 2 New Series Vol. 37 



December 

P. E. Green 

A rain of falling leaves, 

And swallows in the sky. 
Among the pond-shore sedge 

The herons lonely cry. 
The sun, blear-eyed and old, 

Slips shivering down the west ; 
And by the old mill house 

The poplars ill at rest. 

High cutting thru' the gloom, 

The wild geese shrilly call ; 
And in the pasture lot 

The cedars dark and tall. 
Silence ; then sparkling stars, 

A frozen moon uphurled — 
And Autumn in her arms 

Enfolds her drowsy world. 



68 The Magazine 



C. J. Parker 

This is of necessity a story of long ago. It is a story of 
the Hudson Ferries, and of the days when people crossed 
the river on these ugly, distortionate hulks; for now, since 
the advent of the Tubes, no one any longer patronizes them, 
or at least no one deigns to admit it. But nevertheless they 
still ply, these faithful old river horses of Manhattan, and 
still may their deep-throated sirens, and jangling bells be 
heard, in welcome variation, above the perpetual din of the 
Metropolis. 

It was Christmas; and the day was cold, bitterly cold. 
The spray from the churning paddles of the faithful ferries 
froze almost instantly to their already crystal sides, and the 
irregular, druid-like icicles gave to them the appearance of 
enormous frosty phantoms, battling ceaselessly in the icy 
waters. 

But inside all was warm ; the swarming crowds from 
Jersey, clustered about the steaming heaters, partaking fully 
of the life-giving heat, before facing, as soon they must, the 
biting cold of lower Manhattan. The inevitable bootblack, 
a mere wisp of a Spaniard, worked feverishly, making- 
capital of one of the few really good days of the year. The 
spirit of Yuletide was in the air, and every one would be 
chic before getting off into the city. 

The last customer moved off, and the little Spaniard 
glanced up, expectantly. A smile lit his features, as a young 
lady left her seat approaching the stand. A slight nod of 
recognition, and he set about his task ; but his thoughts were 



The Other Side 69 

far away. He recalled the day last July when he had first 
seen the lady, and how, every day since, she crossed from 
Jersey to the city, always on his ferry, and how twice a 
week regularly he had been accorded the privilege of shining 
her immaculate boots. And as his reward, he had always 
received the silver coin and the engaging smile. 

So to him she was "his lady," more beautiful than any 
queen, more dear than any jewel. She was the one bright 
spot in all the sordidness of his daily routine. The cloth 
popped loudly — the task was done. 

The lady opened her purse, and, smiling proffered him a 
half-dollar, for it was Christmas, and the spirit of giving 
had permeated even into the lowly ranks of the proletariat. 
With a hurt expression the youth declined, and, glancing 
wistfully into her eyes, he stammered, "Laydee, I lova you. 
see I giva thee rosa," and hesitatingly he drew from under 
the stand a single American Beauty, and handed it to her. 

She smiled, not wishing to accept the gift, and then some 
heartless bystander laughed. The color rushed to her face, 
and, as an infuriated tigress, she spat at him, "You im- 
pertinent little imp, how dare you insult me ?" and brushing 
him aside she crossed the salon in all the hauteur of one 
deeply injured. 

The little Spaniard stood dazed and immobile, until a man 
mounting the stand impatiently rasped, "Aw forget it, kid ; 
there's a-plenty more, the wurolds full uv them kine." But 
the boy was hurt deeply — made sad on this joyous Yuletide 
by the unkind cut of one whom he worshiped. The ferry 
wallowed into its slip, and, with the bustling crowds, he 
slipped off, and made his way slowly up the thoroughfare. 

He paused before the window of a gaudy little shop, 
bearing the three gilt balls, symbolical since the days of the 
Medici, and entered. Shortly he passed out, minus his over- 
coat, but it was noticeable that the pocket of his threadbare 



70 The Magazine 

coat sagged under the contained weight. He walked slowly 
toward the Village,* passing tenements and little shops, 
noting everywhere the evidenced joy of the season — the 
pent-up anticipation of the whole year released on this one 
day of realization. His soul revolted within him, and a 
black despondency came over him. Why was he so miserable 
among all this festivity ? He stepped into a darkened 
doorway. 

Fascinating article, this neat mechanism of nickel and 
steel, yet wicked in all its purports. The cold gleaming 
automatic quivered with the hand of the Spaniard. 

"Uno, dos, tr ," he counted, and hesitated, hesitated 

upon the brink of the greatest adventure. His eyes were 
closed, and he grasped tighter the butt of the automatic — 
the firm-set lines of his features showed too plainly the 
embodied determination — but, he allowed the gun to fall to 
his side! 

A limousine drew up through the flying snow, and a young 
lady, without the aid of a chauffeur, opened the door and 
sprang out, rushing through the white flurry into the hall- 
way. A passer-by sneered, "Annuther rich dame, cum out 
tuh payrade hur purty rags afore use pore dam fools. Setul- 
munt wurkurs they calls 'em, but evrybody they ever wurks 
for is themselfs." The chauffeur heard and smiled know- 
ingly, for how true were these remarks of the inelect ! 

"Why, hello, what's this; you poor dear, and you must 
be so cold." She stepped closer to the dazed and half -frozen 
Spaniard, whom she had encountered in the passage. 

"And can't you speak; you . O — o — oh, and you 

would do that? Come, let me have it." She advanced and 
grasped the piece, the youth dazedly resisting. 

"No, no, senorita ; no ," he muttered. 



Greenwich Village, in the proximity of Washington Square. 



The Other Side 71 

"But you must; come, let me have it. I will return it." 
Reluctantly he surrendered the gun, and with a sigh of relief 
she dropped it into her bag. 

"Now, come with me ; we shall go where it's warm," and 
she conducted the shivering form to the car. The chauffeur 
opened the door and admitted them. His great coat collar 
hid the smile that lurked upon his features, and the din of 
the city drowned the sound as he muttered cynically, 
"Another." 

The poor frozen form sank upon the luxurious cushions, 
and gazed about, bewildered. The warmth brought back the 
life to his body, and the reason to his mind. He would have 
sought solace in death, and found it in living! The lady 
placed her fur coat about his shoulders, and he glanced up 
at her, and beheld her beautiful, so beautiful. She spoke to 
him, and he answered, and he forgot the automatic in her 
bag, and the heartless woman of the ferries. 

The car rolled up before a handsome mansion, and the 
Spaniard, scarcely comprehnding, followed the lady into the 
house. Dazzling, the grandiosity of Christmas in the realm 
of the wealthy. Mutely he stared, until prompted by the 
lady he followed her into the rear of the mansion. A 
servant came in response to her summons, and soon the lad 
was fitted out with warm clothes, and was sitting down to a 
table loaded with strange and delicious dishes. 

He smiled, and chatted affably in his funny broken 
English. He no longer resembled even that despondent soul 
who had only a few hours before attempted self-destruction. 
The lady sat near, and talked with him, answering his ques- 
tions, and doing much to drive away the last vestige of mad 
impulse. But he must go, and the lady rising took the 
automatic from her bag. At the sight of it the Spaniard 
shuddered. 

"Here, I promised to return it, you remember," she said. 



72 The Magazine 

"No, no, laydee; you keepa eet, keepa eet ," lie 

stammered, and fled. 

Back across town he wended his way, full of the joy of 
living, carrying before him the conscious memory of his 
heaven-sent angel. He had run off without thanking her, 
but, choked with emotion as he was, she would understand. 
Anyway he would go back to the ferries, and make his way, 
and some day perhaps become a great man, then he could 
thank her; thank her for this great gift of happiness at 

Yuletide, and perhaps He took a deep breath; how 

well he felt — how good it was to be alive on this Christmas 
Day. The whole world was happy, and he the happiest 
in it. 

And the lady, the good Samaritan of the morning, was 
happy; but was it because that this morning she had be- 
friended the little Spaniard, and had sent him away with a 
brighter outlook on life ? No, that was merely an incident 
to be related at a few select gatherings, and then forgotten — 
insignificant in the order of the day. She was happy because 
she was with Him, just returned from a tour of Europe, and 
it was nearing midnight. The old Ritzmore Grill to-night 
shone at its best, in compliment perhaps to the company, for 
it was a very exclusive affair. 

He leaned across the table and, with a humorous ex- 
pression, inquired, "So you really saved the poor fellow's 
life ?" 

"Well, perhaps ; all he needed was just a little sympathy. 7 ' 
And lapsing into tongue of the elect she continued, "C'et&it 
rien, le pauvre (liable, et, d'ailleurs, il faut quon s amuse" 
she paused, laughing lightly. 

"The next? Certainly," and, gliding easily into his em- 
brace, whirled madly into the dance. 



The Song of the City 73 



Cfte §>ong of tfie Cttp 

John Gilliam Proctor 

The big city's light is gleaming bright 

Amid the noise and din. 
The crush and rush fills the night, 

And covers the city's sin. 

Everywhere as I tramp I hear 

A buzzing, seething sound; 
The clang and dang fills the air 

With noises all around. 

People pass in a surging mass, 

Yet never a one know I ; 
They hurry and scurry, high and low class, 

As they pass each other by. 

The rich thrive, the poor strive; 

One great, the other small ; 
But they shirk and work and keep alive, 

While the city shelters them all. 

Every soul is mad for gold, 
As they tramp the busy street ; 

By luck and pluck they seek to mold 
A pathway for their feet. 



74 The Magazine 

A busy throng they move along. 

Each with his own desires ; 
By hook and crook, right or wrong, 

They grovel in the mire. 

Some get fame and others shame, 

Within the city's strife. 
They grab and stab, but must we blame 

This their knowledge of life. 

For city's charm and city's harm 
To them is filled with lures, 

And the maddening throng will move along 
As long as time endures. 




Other Judases 75 



©tfcer 3IuDa0e0* 

P. E. Green 

Dusk was creeping over Brush Hollow as old Samuel 
Baxter climbed painfully up the slope toward his cabin, 
situated a few hundred yards back from the creek. Although 
it was past the middle of April, the last touch of winter had 
not left the mountains. There was a slow chill in the air 
that made the old man quicken his steps towards the light 
shining from the door. He carried a bundle of willow withes 
under one arm and a hatchet in his hand. As he neared the 
dwelling, a woman came out on the porch and called softly 
through the gloom : 

"Samu'l ! Samu'l, air ye a-comin' to supper ?" 

As he entered the room, his wife rose quickly and took the 
supper from the coals. Her thin, wrinkled face was stained 
with signs of recent weeping. 

The inside of the building was like that of most mountain 
homes among the poorest class in western North Carolina. 
There was but one room. In the center was the eating table, 
made of rough planks and without a covering. In the back 
part of the room were two low, rude beds, one in each corner. 
Here and there on nails driven into the logs hung whatever 
extra clothing the family possessed. Long strings of pepper, 
popcorn, and beans dangled from the sooty rafters, and next 
to the huge fireplace were several unfinished willow baskets. 

The old couple sat down to their supper of cornbread, 
sorghum molasses, and white Yankee beans in silence. The 
old man ate heartily ; his wife scarcely tasted anything, but 



*Winner of the five dollars in gold offered by The Magazine for best 
short story for this issue. 



76 The Magazine 

now and then wiped away a tear that had begun to slide 
down her cheek. She kept gazing on the vacant place at her 
right, where a chair and plate had been placed for another 
person. 

While they were eating, the song of the first whippoorwill 
drifted down from the nearby mountain side. Old Baxter 
laid down his knife and moved uneasily from the table. His 
wife burst out sobbing. 

"Samu'l, d'ye remember how she loved to set o' evenin's 
an' heah 'em sing?" and her thin body shook with uncon- 
trollable grief. 

Her husband dropped into his chair with an oath. 

"OP woman, they ain't nary bit o' use a-doin' that-a-way. 
What I'm thinkin' on is whetheh we-uns'll eveh see har er 
hide o' that thar young Nort'ner agin," and an evil look 
came into his eyes. "I jest wanta git one single, solitary 
crack at 'im wi' oP Bully," he added, glancing up at a long 
rifle that hung above the door. "He caused me to lose all o' 
my money an' ruint " 

He did not finish the sentence, but fell to cursing violently. 
Up and down the room he strode, pouring forth a roar of 
profanity, while the old woman cowered in her seat. She 
had seen him act in such a way as this two days before, when 
he had first caught sight of the neighbors digging the grave 
in the garden. He had stayed on the mountains all of that 
night. But his rage was of shorter duration this time, and 
soon he slumped back into his chair and gazed silently at the 
floor, as one might do in the depths of despair. 

After he had begun working on a basket, she took the old 
Bible from the shelf — it had been her only consolation for 
the last few days ; but he turned upon her fiercely : 

"Sally, put up that thar d — d book. They ain't nary God 
— leastways they ain't nary one fer we-uns. Ef they wuz, 
He wouldn't 'a' let that thar Nort'ner 'a' been borned to 



Othee Judases 77 

come heah an' cause us to lose our hard-yearned money an' 
disgrace us. An' He wouldn't let people pass laws agin an 
honest man's makin' likker, an' robbin' him uv his livin', 
nuther. What's left fer us but the pore-house, I'd like to 
know ! I'm too old to make baskets fer a livin'." 

Little Joe suddenly set up a loud barking outside, and 
some one knocked at the door. As this was an undue 
formality in that section, the old basket-maker took down his 
gun. When he opened the door, a stranger stepped back 
from the light. He was a tall man with a dark beard. He 
wore a plug hat pulled down over his face and a scarf tied 
loosely about his neck. In a deep, pleasant voice he ex- 
plained that he had become lost while fishing up Brush 
Creek and wanted some one to show him down to Shelton 
Laurel. Old Baxter got his hat and went with him. 

The moon was shining clearly as they set out. Not a 
breath of air was stirring. They had proceeded nearly a 
mile before either of them spoke ; then the stranger merely 
commented on the beauty of the night. The mountaineer 
made no reply to what he said ; for he was engaged in watch- 
ing every movement of his unknown companion. There was 
something about him that reminded him of the young engi- 
neer who used to hang around the cabin, talking to his 
daughter. More than once his hand trembled on the stock 
of his rifle. 

"Stranger," he suddenly inquired, "hev ye eveh been in 
Brush Hollow afore ?" 

"No, never before," was the quick answer. 

They had now reached a place where the path grew 
broader, and far down the valley could be seen the lights of 
Shelton Laurel. 

"I think I can find the way now," said the stranger. "But 
before I go, there is something I'd like to say to you," pull- 



78 The Magazine 

ing his hat down lower. "I have learned that there was a 
young man in this neighborhood a few months ago who did 
jour family a great wrong. I " 

The old man grasped his arm in a grip of steel. 

"Ef ye know wherebouts he is, you'd better tell." 

"He's gone away — across the sea/' nervously. "But he 
told me to give you this if I should ever see you. He 
regretted what he'd done and wanted to make amends to 
you." With that he drew a small bag from beneath his coat. 
"Here, he sent you this." 

"No ! No ! I'll take nothin' but that thar d — d skunk's 
life, an' that thar I'm a-gonna have, ef " 

"But look you. It's enough to make you rich for life." 

He ran his hand into the bag and took out a few pieces of 
gold. They glittered in the moonlight, and old Baxter gazed 
at them fascinated. The bag was pushed suddenly into his 
trembling hand, and the stranger disappeared down the 
mountain. In a ravine he stopped and took off his false 
beard, laughing sadly to himself. 

Left alone, the basket-maker glanced suspiciously around 
at the gloomy shadows ; he then began to examine his strange 
gift. Gold, he was rich ! He ran his fingers through it with 
low chuckles of delight. Soon he hurried home with the bag 
clutched tightly in his hands. 

When he drew near the house he heard some one talking 
in the garden. His first thought was of robbers. With his 
rifle cocked, he crept around the cabin. There, on her knees 
beside the newly-made grave, with her hands clasped and her 
pale face upturned in the moonlight, he found his wife. 
Like a dog that had been struck, he slunk into the house and 
went to bed with his gold. 

Long after his wife had gone to sleep, he rose stealthily 
and counted his money. All the remainder of the night he 
dreamed of great bags of treasure into which he thrust his 
arms up to the elbows. 



Other Judases 79 

On the next morning his wife was unable to leave her bed. 
She was stricken with a sudden attack of rheumatism. But 
as she was accustomed to have these attacks, old Samuel 
thought nothing of it. After he had cooked himself some- 
thing to eat, he slipped away without a word and went far 
up into the mountains, Little Joe following at his heels. 
Under a thick laurel bush he began counting his gold again. 
He arranged it in piles, laid it out in rows, chinked it to- 
gether in his hands, and admired it in a hundred ways. All 
the time he laughed in a low, harsh voice. 

"Hit's more'n I had in the oP stockin'," he muttered. 
"The ol' woman mustn't know. She'll be up fer buyin' 
tombstone fer the grave. They ain't nary nuther cent goin' 
be spent that-a-way. Hit's enuff to lose all I had fer the 
doctor's bill an' the buryin'." 

Little Joe lay by and eyed him questioningly. 

Late in the afternoon, when the shadows had begun to 
creep up the valley, he clawed a hole in the ground and 
covered up the bag ; then he strewed leaves over the place to 
hide the signs of fresh dirt. 

His wife was still in bed when he reached the cabin, her 
face drawn and haggard with pain. He must have noticed 
it, for he asked her whether there was anything that he 
could do. 

"NothiiP, Samu'l," she answered, turning over with a 
groan. 

He ate his supper alone; she wanted nothing. 

That night he did not work at his baskets, but sat gazing 
moodily into the fire. Now and then a low moan from the 
back part of the room broke in upon his musings. At last he 
broke out roughly : 

"Ain't ye a-gonna let a-body see eny peace a-tall ! I never 
seed sich a-carryin' on. I've had jest sich pains a thousand 
times, an' I didn't cut up so." 



80 The Magazine 

Some time in the night his dreams of gold were inter- 
rupted by a feeble voice calling: 

"Samu'l! Samu'l!" 

"What d'ye want V 9 

"I must have a doctor, or — or ," her voice died away 

in a moan. 

He got up quickly and struck a light. 

"Now, Sally, they ain't nary bit o' use of a doctor. Ye'll 
be a lots better in the mornin'. An', besides, they ain't nary 
cent to pay 'im with." 

"Yes, yes, I'd f ergot" 

He arose at dawn and went up the mountain to the laurel 
bush. Near night he returned. The cabin was cold and 
cheerless. As he entered old Sally called weakly: 

"Samu'l, I must hev a doctor. I'll pay 'im somehow." 

He was impatient. 

"They ain't a cent o' money, I tell ye, Sally. An' he won't 
come, a-knowin' he won't git no pay. Ye'll be well in a leetle 
while. The spell in Janiwery wuz jest as bad, an' ye come 
aroun' all right." 

While he was preparing supper, she asked for the Bible. 
Although he had forbade her reading it, the look on her face 
was so appealing that he could not refuse her. Propping 
her up in bed, he put the book in her hands and went back to 
his cooking. 

It had always been her custom to read aloud. Her husband 
had never paid much attention to what she read. He was 
illiterate, and, besides, all his time had been taken up with 
adding to the slow-growing hoard in the old stocking. He 
had never felt the need of the gospel in his hard, miserly life. 
But the events of the last few days had upset him strangely. 
And when she began to read, he found himself unconsciously 
listening. She read several passages he had heard her read 
before, but they had never seemed so real as they did now. 



Other Judases 81 

The story of the babe in the manger and the shepherds and 
the angels on the hills brought back the Christmas night of 
long ago, when he, the youngest and bravest moonshiner on 
the mountains, had walked twelve miles to hear Sally 
Wilkins say a piece about this same babe and angels and 
shepherds. Then he thought of the Christmas when he and 
Sally ran away together and were married, and then of the 
Christmas when the baby was born. His reverie was broken 
into by : "It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a 
needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of 
heaven." 

''What's it say thar, Sally ?" he queried nervously. 

"Hit sez as how a camel kin go through a needle's eye 
easier'n a rich man kin git into heaven. I tell ye, Samu'l, 
they's a many man that loves his money in this here worl' 
better'n anything else iz a-goin' to wish he'd a-never a-seen 
hit in tiither. Cod's got his fire an' brimstone savin' up 
fer 'em." 

"Well, we-uns ain't rich, air we, Sally ?" he burst out. 

"No. An' hit's best that-a-way. The Lord will provide." 

Every word of warning seemed meant for him. He felt 
that the wrath of God was hanging over him. The wind 
stirred among the trees. He shivered and laid on more fuel. 
In a low, halting voice she read of the last hours of the 
Master — the story of His agony in the garden, His betrayal 
by Judas, and the end on the cross. He listened breathlessly. 
The whole scene rose up before him as vividly as if he had 
been looking at it. He saw the tears of Jesus, the sleeping 
disciples, and, plainest of all, the figure of the traitor Judas 
as he stole along, leading the soldiers to the garden. He saw 
him a big, bearded, cruel man. And as he went before the 
soldiers, he clutched a bag of money in his hand, a hand big 
and knotty like his own. Thirty pieces of money ! That 
was the number he had hid under the laurel bush. Judas, 



82 The Magazine 

the man before the soldiers, slowly merged into a man 

stumbling up the mountain side with a bag of gold ! And 

he killed himself! He rose unsteadily to his feet. His 
wife's voice broke the stillness : 

"Samu'l, I've been lyin' heah thinkin' thar may be other 
Judases in this worl' besides the one spoken uv in the Good 
Book. That thar Kort'ern man " 

With a cry, the old basket-maker stumbled into the night. 
Little Joe rose up from the path to follow, but he whirled 
upon him with a kick that sent him whimpering away into 
the darkness. Then he set off up the hollow like a madman. 

The moon gave but a dim light through the fringe of a 
cloud that had begun to overspread the sky. A low rumble 
of thunder boomed in the west, and soon it began to rain. 
He paid no attention to the oncoming storm, but lashed on 
through the bushes without slackening his pace. A Judas ! 
A Judas ! He could not get away from it. The tree-toads 
began to sing. 

"Judas ! Judas! Judas!" they called mockingly. 

It was raining hard now, and he was wet and cold. He 
sat down on a boulder exhausted. The lightning was flash- 
ing among the hemlocks, and the thunder shook the ground. 
Something warm touched his leg. Little Joe sprang upon 
him, licking his face and yelping for joy. Grasping a stone 
he struck him to earth and then fled until he could no longer 
hear the cries of the little dog. Suddenly with a blinding 
crash the lightning struck a tree directly in front of him. 
He fell upon the ground with a prayer, the first he had ever 
uttered in his long, fierce life. For many hours he lay with- 
out moving. When he arose stiffly to his feet, the storm had 
cleared away, and a thrush was singing in the dawn. He 
painfully clambered up the mountain to the laurel bush. 
Digging up his gold, he hurried home. 



Other Judases 



83 



The door of the cabin was open, just as he had left it in 
his flight. The soft gray of the morning filled the room with 
a half -twilight. His wife was still sleeping, the Bible in 
her arms. With a sob in his throat, he bent over her : 

"Sally, I've bin a Judas ! I " 

As he moved the pillow, she sagged forward to the floor. 

She had been dead for many hours. 

After a search that lasted several days, they found him at 
the foot of a precipice besides the creek. In one mangled 
hand he clasped a bag of gold. As they drew near the body, 
a little emaciated dog stood up on three legs and whined 
piteously. 




84 The Magazine 



Cfte ifto&fter I£ou0e 

W. L. Blythe 

When Aunt Nancy, the Wilson family's old negro servant, 
entered the big living-room and drew her chair up in the 
corner near the large open fireplace, little Rachel, the 
youngest of the Wilson children, immediately jumped into 
her lap. All the other children ranged themselves around 
her and assumed an air of intense interest. 

"Nannie," began the little girl, calling the old negress by 
the affectionate nickname that she had given her when she 
was a wee tot, "won't you tell us a tale before we go to bed V 9 

All the others at once beseiged her with their pleadings 
and she, of course, could not hold out against them even if 
she had wanted to do so. Her tales of old ante-bellum days 
were the children's chief delight, and they listened to her 
wonderful accounts of ghostly adventures and hair-breadth 
escapes with the most eager attention. They would sit en- 
raptured for hours at a time as she told of the happenings of 
those days "befo' de War," and it was hard to get them 
to bed when once "Nannie" got started on her lengthy 
reminiscences. 

"Well," she began, bending over in her chair and taking a 
deep breath, as if she were preparing for a long and arduous 
discourse, "what does yo' want me to tell erbout?" 

At once a dozen different subjects were presented by the 
impatient children. 

"Tell us about the ghost that ran Reuben, or old Uncle 
Barney, or Wheeler's Cavalry, or Uncle Isaac Bratton's race 

with the pat'e'rollers, or ," and they stormed her with 

every one that they could remember ever having heard 
her tell. 



The Robber House 85 

"I been studyin' erbout de oP days dis eben an' I happened 
to mind erbout de tale mah father told to us chillun when we 
wuz young an' lived on de ol' plantation. He uster set out in 
front er de do'step an' talk wid ol' Uncle Joe erbout de times 
when he wuz young an' reckless, an' I'd set an' listen to dem. 
Hit ain't lak hit uster be now, 'ca'se chillun in dem days 
dassen't speak when dere elders wuz talkin' less'n dey wuz 
called on. De ol' folks can't hardly git a word in edgeways 
now, do', fo' de chaps has de talkin' priv'iges to deyselves." 
And she would chuckle to herself and shake her head in such 
a manner that it highly amused the children. 

a Ez I said, I'd set an' listen to dem, an' one day he told 
us dis tale erbout when he wuz driver fo' de Big House. He 
driv de big coach dat dey had den to ride in when dey went 
to preachin' er visitin', an' wuz sorter handy man 'roun' de 
house. De tale dat he wuz tellin' wuz erbout whut happened 
to him an' Kirk Allison when dey wuz goin' to Chapel Hill 
to bring Marse back home frum de college. Hit wuz de 
young Marster, Marse Dick, an' he uster go up dere to 
school. Dey'd take de big coach an' de hack to carry de 
trunks in, an' hit'd take er week to make de trip in. 

"Hit wuz one spring day dat dey started out on er spring 
mornin' an' dey made good time fo' dem days, do' course dey 
couldn't travel den lak dey do now in dese her ortermobeels. 
Dey wuz drivin' John an' Pete, de big hosses date Marse 
had, to de coach, an' had er mule to de hack. Dey gut up 
'bove Statesville cle fust day an' stayed fo' de night an' den 
went on de nex' day. Dey had been gittin' 'long fine an' wuz 
pretty near to Chapel Hill, an' jes' lacked one day er gittin' 
dere when dey had to stop fo' de night. Er storm wuz comin 
up an' dey had to stop fo' de night in er house dat dey seed 
ober in et patch er pines oif a good piece frum de road. Dey 
didn't much lak de looks er de place, but de storm wuz 
pressin' dem so close dat dey had to stop some'eres right 



86 The Magazine 

away, an' so dey driv up an' axed ef dey could stay dere all 
night. Hit wuz er nigger house, but 'twuz one er dese here 
'big niggers' dere, fo' a nigger man come out cle house dat 
wuz dressed up, an' he 'peared to be a gentleman nigger, laks 
dey say dey has up dere in Washin'ton. He told dem to put 
up dere hosses an' come right in de house — dat dey wuz 
welcome to anything he had. An' so dey went to de barn an' 
put up de hosses an' fed 'em good an' went up to de house. 
But dey wuz still er little 'spicious an' so dey didn't take de 
harnesses off de hosses, but jes' turnt 'em in de stall wid 
dere harnesses tied up on dere back so's dey could hitch 'em 
up quick. When dey gut th'ough doin' dat dey went up to de 
house an' de man int'oduced dem to his folks as wayfarin' 
strangers an' dey all bid dem welcome, an' axed dem out to 
supper. Dey said dey had already et, an' so mah father an' 
Kirk wuz de only's ones to eat. Dey set down to de table an' 
started to eatin' by deyselves, an' wuz enjoyin' dere supper 
moughty well, as dey had driv all day an' wuz pretty tired 
an' hongry. Dey had some pie on de table, an' braid an' 
milk, an' diff'ent things lak dat, an' some kind er red, dark- 
lookin' meat dat dey didn't know whut hit wuz. Hit wuz 
toler'ble good tastin', do', an' dey wuz eatin' erway when 
mah father happened to see somethin' dat looked moughty 
quair. He looked closer an' wut yo' reckon he seed ?" 

"What was it ?" exclaimed the children, their eyes wide 
open with wonder. 

a He seed er man's finger nails in de meat!" answered the 
old darky. "Dey wuz hard an' pink lookin' an' sorter jagged 
aroun' de edges. Mah father stopped eatin' an' whispered to 
Kirk to look. He looked at it an' dey boaf stopped eatin' 
dat stuff right den. Dey et some er de pie er sumpin an' 
'scused deyselves frum de table as quick as dey could. 

"Dey didn't know whut to do dey wuz so scairt. 



The Robber House 87 

"Mah father whispered to Kirk, 'Le's git out er dis 
place an' git out quick.' Dat suited Kirk 'xactly, an' so dey 
'scused deyselves an' went down to de barn. Dey wanted to 
study erbout whut to do. Dey told de people at de house 
dat dey wuz goin' to see erbout de hosses ef dey wuz all right, 
but whut dey railly wanted to do wuz to git out er dere. 

"Hit wuz er powerful stormy lookin' night an' dey jes' 
didn't know whut to do. Dey wuz scairt to leave fo' fear 
dat dey would git los' in dat dark wilderness dat dey didn't 
know too much erbout. Yo' see dey had took er nudder way 
frum dat dey had been takin' 'ca'se somebody had told dem 
it wuz lots clos't'er dat way, an' dat's de reason dat dey didn't 
know nothin' erbout dat country. The sky wuz full er big, 
black-lookin' clouds an' hit looked lak hit would rain any 
minnit, an' de roads wuzn't very good neither. So dey 
messed 'roun' de barn lak dey wuz workin' wid de hosses, all 
de time studyin' erbout whut to do. Dey at last 'cided to 
hitch up an' tie dem in de barn so's ef anything did happen 
to dem up dere at de house dey could git out er dere in er 
hurry. Den dey went up to de house. Mah father said to 
Uncle Joe when he wuz tellin' us erbout hit, says he, 'Joe, 
mah knees wuz shakin' so dat de wind dat went th'ough dem 
wuz whistlin' "Dixie." I wuz so scairt dat I couldn't walk 
straight.' 

"Dey went in an' de people told dem to go upstairs an' 
dey would find er place to sleep at. Dey went up dere an' 
went in de room an' tipped 'roun' lak dat dey's 'spectin' de 
floor to fall th'ough ef dey put dey weight on hit. Dere 
wuz two nice-lookin' beds in de room all fixed up wid clean 
counte'pins on dem, an' dey looked so nice dat mah father 
an' Kirk beginned to fergit erbout bein' scairt. Dey wuz so 
tired an' dose beds looked so good to dem dey wuz jus' erbout 
to strip off an' jum pin when mah father 'membered erbout 
dem finger nails in de meat. 



88 The Magazine 

" 'Dey mought not er been a pusson's nails/ he said, 'but 
den ergin dey mought, an' I'se goin' to go sorter slow while 
I'se 'roun' dis place.' 

"So dey didn't strip off, but jes' took off dere coats an' 
had set down to take off dere shoes when mah father looked 
under de bed on de far side er de room — an' whut yo' reckon 
he seed under dere ?" 

The children had become so interested in following the 
old woman's tale that they were almost afraid to speak for 
fear a ghost or some terrible goblin would pounce upon them 
if they broke the silence. They finally managed to whisper, 
"What was it ?" and the old darky began again. 

"He seed two daid men under dere," she answered in 
terrible tones, rolling the whites of her eyes at the frightened 
children. 

The children were "scairt to death" almost, and little 
Rachel put her arms around the old negress' neck and 
cuddled up close. 

"Did those dead men get your Daddy, Nannie," she asked 
innocently. 

"Lan' sakes 'live," returned Aunt Nancy, dey wuz daid. 
Dem people had kilt 'em an' robbed 'em an' dey didn't hab 
time to git 'em out de house befo' mah father an' Kirk gut 
dere. Dey thought dat dey wuz 'live an' wuz waitin' till dey 
gut to sleep an' den dey would come out an' kill 'em. Mah 
father went ober to de bed an' axed dem whut wuz dere 
bizness under dere, but dey didn't say nothin', an' so he 
raised de kivers an' looked under dere an' den he seed some 
blood an' dat made him know dat dey wuz daid. Dat sho' 
scairt him, an' him an' Kirk whispered 'roun' to each other 
dat dey'd better move deyselves frum dere. 

" 'I bets dat bed ober dere is er trap dat'll drap yo' down 
in below dere on some knives er sumptin to kill yo',' said 



The Robber House 89 

mah father to Kirk. Dey wouldn't tetch dat bed, but jes' 
put on dere shoes an' dere coats an' gut ready to leave dat 
place. 

"Dey wuz on de seeon' story es de house an' de people 
er de house wuz down below dem playin' on er orgin dat dey 
had, an' singin' an' carryin' on powerful. Dey wuz waitin' 
to git mah father an' Kirk when dey gut in bed an' fell 
th'ough dat trap to de pit place below. But dey didn't git 
dem darkies. ~No, chile, not dem ! Dey 'uz too sharp fo' 
dem! 

" 'Look here, Kirk, we'se gut to clair out er dis place 
whil'se our hides ain't gut no holes in dem,' said mah father 
to Kirk. fc Yo' jump out er de window an' run fo' de barn 
an' onhitch dem hosses an' yo' jump in de hack, an' den clair 
yoself. I'll come a-hint yo' an' git in de coach, an' den I'll 
strike out an' ef dey takes out arter us hit'll jes' be me an' 
dem — me an' dem.' Dat's whut he said to him. 

"So Kirk he gut ready an' put on his hat an' looked 'roun' 
er little lak he avuz scairt to leave mah father, an' den he 
shuck hands wid him an' told him dat dey would meet in 
Heben ef dey didn't agin on earth — which wuz moughty 
onlikely — an' den he went ober to de window an' jumped out. 
Mah father wuz watchin' so's he could jump too ef dey 
heared Kirk when he lit, but dey didn't as dey wuz raisin' 
so much fuss wid de orgin. Hit wuzn't er very big jump, 
fo' de house wuzn't very high, an' he didn't git hurt er bit 
(he wuz too scairt to git hurt, I reckon), an' he run to de 
barn an' onhitched de hosses an' gut ready to leave dat place 
er-pitchin' jes' as soon as mah father gut dere. De barn 
wuz erbout er quarter uv er mile frum de house an' hit wuz 
nex' to de Big Road. When he'd been gone er little while 
an' mah father thought dat he had time to be ready to go, 
mah father gut ready to make de jump. He picked up a 
cheer an' th'owed hit right fair in de middle er de bed, an' 



90 The Magazine 

dere wuz er big fuss an' de whole bottom er de bed fell out 
an' de cheer fell th'ough to some'eres below jes' lak mah 
father had told Kirk he thought hit'd do. De bed den come 
back in place jes' lak hit wuz befo' 'cept dat de bed clo'es had 
fell too. Dere wuz er terribul racket an' he heard dem runnin' 
'roun' to where dat trap thing wuz fixed to drap people dat 
gut in de bed. Dey thought dey had him, but dey didn't 
hab dat darky. ~No, siree ! He'd done jumped out dat 
window an' by de time dey foun' dat hit wuz er cheer 'stead 
er mah father er Kirk dey wuz er haf mile down de Big 
Road jes' er-pitchin'. 

"De nex' day when dey told erbout whut happened to dem 
dey gethered up er crowd an' went in on dem, an' dey found 
dere wuz a whole lot er daid people in dat ol' pit below de 
trap. Dey had been missin' people whut wuz traveling but 
dey didn't know whut become er dem till den." 

"And did your Daddy and Kirk not get killed after all, 
Nannie ?" asked the little tot. 

u ~No, Honey; but dey sho' gut bad scairt," responded the 
old negro mammy. 



Memory 91 



Garland B. Porter 

Dear Memory, thou cherished gift of God, fond Retrospect 
That 'titles man to live in both the past and present, 

Thou golden link that these two sweetly dost connect 
Art dear alike to highest prince and lowest peasant. 

Thou art the gift makes man the greater, higher yet 
Of all God's creatures, but we oft must feel 

That the lowly dog must see some game when he does fret 
And whine in sleep, and give chase in some distant field. 

We fain would say when we recall the gentle, gladsome scenes 
Of sweet bygone years, that're neither bought nor sold, 

The heart's the seat of thought, the brilliant brain 

A mixer of tears, with the wise, gray Stagirite of old. 

Never leave me, oh, thou wondrous cherished power, 
Which enhances, heightens life's brief, solemn reign. 

Oh, do not lose me of single, blessed hour 

Of times gone by that nevermore will come again ! 



92 The Magazine 



Cfte Call of tbe ISelis 

A Yuletide Tale 
Ewakt W. G. Huffman 

I 

"I know not how the truth may be, 
I tell the tale as 'twas told to me." 

It was Christmas Eve of the year 1842. The night was 
bitter cold. For four successive weeks snow had fallen almost 
continuously. Little, if any, had melted. At many places 
the snow had become so deep it was impossible to wade 
through without considerable effort. Deep drifts were 
numerous. James River had been frozen over for thirty- 
six days and heavy wagons had traversed it without a mis- 
hap. In fact, this had become a necessity. As yet no bridge 
had been constructed and the ferry had been laid by until 
the snow disappeared. Shenandoah Valley was sieged with 
the severest storm in its history. In fact, practically all the 
rivers that dotted Old Dominion were in a similar, yet 
milder condition. However, Richmond and its immediate 
vicinity suffered considerably more than the other portions 
of the State, due to the unfavorable and peculiar outlay of 
the mountain ranges. 

On this particular occasion — or day of the year — four 
men had congregated in a celebrated barroom in Richmond 
for drink, cards, and rest. Alcoholic odors tainted the air in 
the dingy apartment. The hour was late and was fastly 
approaching midnight. 

"Shall we play a game to-night or not, Ed ?" queried one 
of the gentlemen, who was lazily lounging on one of the 
stools. 



The Call of the Bells 93 

"Suits me," answered the gentleman questioned. "What 
do you say, fellows ?" 

Action was the response. The men grouped. Cards were 
dealt. Few words were spoken. From time to time occa- 
sional sums of money were produced from the losers' pockets 
and placed on the table with a slight movement of apparent 
uneasiness. 

A casual observer could have detected without any diffi- 
culty whatever the man who was winning, by the manner in 
which he played. He was a man with unusual appearance : 
tall, slender, pale, haggard, and possessing eyes that required 
a second look. He looked too good for such a place. He 
reminded one of a man who had sowed his wild oats and who 
had just gathered in his harvest. His eyes and facial ex- 
pression revealed the fact that he — whoever he was — was no 
common man. 

"Well, boys," he began, "I promised my wife a Christinas 
present, and I won't be compelled to disappoint her after 
all, will I ?" 

"Maybe not," muttered one with a disagreeable grunt, as 
he placed his last coin on the table. 

"Don't brag so soon," complained another. 

"Just because you've put it over us to-night ain't no 
reason why you should taunt us with your victorious grin, 
is it?" finally remarked the remaining gentleman. 

"As you wish, gentlemen; as you wish," the winner re- 
marked good-naturedly and effectively. As he spoke he made 
a cigarette and lit it between phrases and proceeded to empty 
the bottle of whisky in one draught. 

Christmas Eve lingered. She was dying. 

The game continued. 

Silence ensued. No one spoke except to inform the others 
how he would bid or renege. It seemed as though the 
prophecy of the first speaker was only too true. A few 



94 The Magazine 

minutes passed. The men rose. He had been successful, 
and in a friendly manner summoned his friends to the 
counter and ordered drinks for them all. 

"Come, men, let's drink a toast to Beauty — the goddess 
Beauty," exclaimed the winner in a salutatory address, and 
raising his glass high he drained it easily in one swallow. 
They followed suit. 

Another glass was portioned out to each by the liberal 
victor and toastmaster, who again cried out: 

"Again, gentlemen, a toast to Love." One turn of his 
glass proved sufficient to completely empty its contents. The 
other men complied without any hesitancy. 

Before they had finished drinking, another hearty toast was 
loudly proclaimed: 

"And last, gentlemen — hie — ha ! hich — a toast to Death — 
hie — whadda ya say, eh?" The glasses were immediately 
refilled by the bar-tender, and emptied for the third and 
final time. 

Expressions of appreciation for his kindness were 
numerous and hearty. The leader, now too far out of his 
senses to fully enjoy their words, nodded weakly and went 
behind the bar. Securing his slouch hat, large black muffler, 
and a heavy overcoat from several hooks, he bade the gentle- 
man a "Good night — hie — good night — a merry and sober 
Christmas — hich — I say," and plodded out. 

II 

The air was biting. Ten million stars were a-shine like 
jewels in the breast of the sky. Bitter north winds prowled 
greedily over the innumerable miles of the ghastly cloak, 
endeavoring to conquer both man and beast. But the man 
muttered a curse and journeyed on to his destination. 

This man was Poe ! 

It was Christmas morn ! 

He walked slowly, wearily perhaps, or more likely, weak 
from dissipation. Twice he stumbled and fell helplessly into 



The Call of the Bells 95 

a small ditch. Each mishap, when he had regained his feet, 
was followed by a volley of violent curses. Crossing a small 
stream he struck a better road and walked smoothly on for 
some time. 

Suddenly in the distance the sound of bells — sleigh-bells 
— silver bells — Christmas bells — became audible. As though 
struck by a stray bullet, like the tale of the "picket off duty 
forever," the man — the drunk man: Poe — paused, stopped. 
He listened intently. 

" 'Tis Christmas," he muttered. "But the bells — the bells, 
how sweetly 'they tingle in the icy air of night.' 'Tis a 
melody seldom heard — never appreciated." 

Again the man was silent. The melody of the bells became 
louder, lingered in a monotone, then again died away. 

Wildly the man — Poe — searched his pockets for pencil 
and notebook, but none were produced. 

"Ah ," he began speaking in rapturous and inspired 

tones, "how sweet. Too sweet." He paused. Then like a 
madman he gasped: ''Infancy — Manhood — Primes — Death." 
His eyes sparkled. Twice his hands went to his face 
only to be replaced in the pockets of the big brown over- 
coat. As he did this, he gazed about, Across the road a light 
still nickered. It came from a beautiful colonial palace of 
the old Southern type. Upon perceiving this he broke into 
a hurried gait and approached the house. As he walked he 
muttered line after line, repeating, in order, it seemed, to 
prevent his forgetting. Unconsciously, the words, it seemed, 
came forth in rapid succession. Distinctly came the beauti- 
ful words : 

"Hear the sledges with the bells — 
Silver bells ! 
What a world of merriment their melody foretells ! 
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, 

In the icy air of night 
While the stars that oversprinkle 
All the heavens seem to twinkle 
With a crystalline delight " 



96 The Magazine 

Here he broke off. "My God — 'tis a jewel," he cried. 

Walking rapidly he soon appeared at the mansion. With- 
out knocking or without any hesitancy whatever he opened 
the door and walked in. ~No one was at home. He then 
immediately seated himself by a table in the room, grabbed 
a pen and composed the immortal melody, "The Bells." 

An hour passed. Poe again came out in the open, empty- 
handed. He was still drunk and walked shakily. Just as 
he was closing the gate to the fence which enclosed the 
garden of the palacial home, Poe encountered roughly an old 
friend who accosted him suspiciously, upon seeing where he 
had been. 

"Well, well," he began, "and what have you been doing 
in there at this time of the night, Ed ? Ill ?" 

"None of your damned business," Poe replied, and 
started on. 

"Maybe not," muttered his friend, showing signs of dis- 
appointment and curiosity. 

He then turned again on his way. He smiled as he 
realized Poe was drunk, and plodded on as he heard Poe 
break the silence of the night by a continued series of 
vociferous curses. 

The man's name was West. 

The bells had ceased their song. The stars had disap- 
peared. Snow soon began falling to usher in the holiest and 
sweetest festival of all : Christmastide. 

In the wake of dawn, a drunk man staggered on and on 
until he reached his home. Anxious hearts awaited him. 
Love overlooked man's failings and administered its effective 
balm. 

Ill 

It was almost dawn when Dr. At well returned to his 
home Christmas morning from an urgent call to one of his 
patients who, for some time, had lain at the point of death. 



The Call of the Bells 97 

The candle had burned low. The fire in the large open 
fireplace flickered faintly. As he entered hurriedly, he re- 
moved his overcoat and tossed it on a chair. Santa Claus 
had already visited his home. The stockings were filled. He 
mused. He thought of his youth and how his own children 
reminded him of his simple days of carefree bliss. 

Drawing up a chair close to the fire, intending to warm 
himself thoroughly before retiring, he seated himself com- 
fortably in a large leathered armchair. He reached for a 
book from the table to read. Without looking around he 
found the book and began reading and turning the pages 
slowly. Atwell was a man of literary taste and ability. He 
had had an exceptional college career. Eeading was and had 
always been his favorite pastime. 

After he had perused the pages sleepily for half an hour, 
he rose, placed the book on the table, yawned and started to 
leave the room. As he passed the lower end of the table, his 
eye became focused on several finely written, loose pages 
which were scattered spasmodically here and there. Think- 
ing perhaps they were a message for him by his wife or 
another call, he picked them up and again reseated himself 
by the fire. 

Atwell's surprise was absolute. At first he thought he was 
dreaming and brushed his face rudely with his hand to be 
certain he was awake. He read on spellbound. When he 
had finished reading it for the first time he examined the 
manuscripts closely for the author's name, but none was to 
be found. Feeling uneasy and suspecting some one might be 
near, he glanced cautiously around the room, but only dark- 
ness was discernible. 

Lost in a reverie, he endeavored to solve the mystery. In 
his younger clays he had written verse and some prose ; how- 
ever, nothing of such high caliber. He knew no man of 
ordinary talent could have possibly composed such a master- 
piece. 



98 The Magazine 

Fully an hour passed. Atwell was still lost in meditation 
and admiration and astonishment. How could it have 
gotten there ? If he had it published in his name, it would 
bring him lasting fame. But, no, he hurriedly abandoned 
such an idea. He would not steal. Perhaps some other 
author had already won his fame with it and he had never 
heard it or read it before. 

He soon gave it up as hopeless — utterly hopeless. He 
awakened Mrs. Atwell, so great was his curiosity, but he 
discovered upon questioning her that she knew nothing of 
the poem either. He read it again and again. Held by its 
smooth-noAving metrical feet and magic rhythmic touches, 
he read it so often and so long that he believed he could 
almost repeat it from memory. He ransacked the innermost 
recesses of his mind, considered and exhausted every possible 
clue to the finding of the poem and its author — but the 
enigmatical manuscripts were still a mystery. \ Poe had 
written "The Bells'' and left them carelessly to Fate. 

Soon he became aware that several hours had lapsed since 
his arrival. He then carefully placed the poem and retired. 

That night he dreamed that an angel had proclaimed him 
author of the poem. 

IV 

At 10 o'clock Christmas morning the Richmond Gentle- 
man's Club, organized primarily for the sake of public 
charities, convened in their club rooms. Dr. Atwell was 
president. Perhaps the fact that he knew the conditions of 
the people who needed aid was instrumental in securing him 
this position. His daily visits to people of all classes, to- 
gether with his scholarly achievements, thoroughly ac- 
quainted him with the township's charitable necessities. 
Therefore his advice was always solicited. 

The usual business and financial transactions, including 
specific charitable appropriations, various speeches supple- 



The Call of the Bells 99 

mented by explanations, were disposed of by noon. Imme- 
diately upon its adjournment Dr. Atwell requested that the 
gentlemen remain a few minutes longer, if possible, stating 
that he had a mystery that he could not solve. 

They willingly waited. He stated the facts briefly. He 
told them of his visit to one of his patients. His return. 
Then the discovery of the poem and of the numerous in- 
quiries that he had made. The interest was tense. Com- 
ments were numerous with compliments unreserved. Some 
drew near to scrutinize the handwriting. But no one could 
explain. 

Then Dr. Atwell collected the manuscripts, which had been 
distributed to satisfy the curiosity of the inquisitive mem- 
bers, stating that he would give the poem to The Literary 
Messenger for immediate publication, with several explana- 
tory details and notations. All nodded their approval of the 
suggestion. 

Overcoats and other winter paraphernalia were brought in 
by the negro servants and the club members started to 
disperse. 

Suddenly, like the wild, triumphant cry of a man who has 
secured a life pardon in the nick of time for a prisoner as he 
was being led to the gallows, came the loud and eager ex- 
clamation from one of the group : 

"I've got it, gentlemen ; I've got it," he cried enthu- 
siastically. 

The man's name was West. 

The departing members once more returned. 

a Got what ?" several men quickly interrogated West. 

"I know who wrote the poem," West replied, with an air of 
superiority. 

"Who ?" came the unanimous question. 

"Poe," he answered. 

"Poe ?" queried one. 



100 The Magazine 

"Who, the bar-tender ?" questioned another, with a note of 
disgust and utter disbelief. 

"The very same," West reaffirmed. 

"How ?" said one. 

"When ?" asked another. 

"Does Poe write poetry ?" queried a third. 

"Then tell us, West," remarked Dr. Atwell. "It is true 
that Poe writes poetry, but I never thought him capable of 
producing such a masterpiece." 

"I don't know anything about the merits of the poem, but 
I have just reasons for believing Poe wrote this one," West 
declared. 

"Be brief," said an impatient voice from the rear. 

"What time, Dr. Atwell, did you leave home to make your 
call to one of your patients ?" he asked the president. 

"About eleven-thirty or twelve, I suppose," he reflected. 

"When did you return ?" he asked. 

"Between one and two, I would judge," he answered, show- 
ing signs of retrospection. 

"Unquestionably, then, Poe wrote it," West asserted posi- 
tively. "This morning between 12 :30 and 1 :30 o'clock I 
passed along the road in front of your house. I had just 
reached the path adjoining your fence when I ran directly 
into Poe as he was closing your gate behind him. He was 
drunk. I asked him his business. He merely cursed and 
went on not heeding my question. Thinking that perhaps 
he had been sick and noticing a light in your front room, I 
journeyed on in the opposite direction." 

"I don't understand," remarked Atwell. 

"Neither do I," said another. 

"Simply this," West said emphatically; "I mean to say 
that Poe deliberately went into Dr. Atwell's house — drunk — : 
sat down at your table, wrote the poem, and left it there, as 
he was too drunk to know what he was doing." 



The Call of the Bells 101 

"Sounds reasonable," assented one. 

"Quite possible/' agreed another. 

"Why not investigate?" asked one of the men. "It's 
worth it, isn't it ?" 

"I should say it is," said Dr. Atwell. "Suppose we call to 
see him in person now. Who will go with me ?" 

Several volunteered. West was one of the number. The 
crowd finally dispersed. 

To the barroom they went. Poe had just returned. In 
an admirable way Dr. Atwell presented him the poem for 
his perusal, asking him what he thought of it, and whether 
or not it was worthy of publication in the Northern peri- 
odicals. Excellent camouflage ! 

"My God," exclaimed Poe wildly, "why — where — this — 
where did you get this poem ? I — 1 must have written it or 
dreamed about it last night or something of the kind." 

"On my table in my room at home," Dr. Atwell remarked 
simply. 

Poe hurriedly perused the lines. It was his, written in his 

own handwriting — yet But Dr. Atwell's statement did 

not exactly clear the situation to Poe. He only slightly re- 
membered the contents of the poem. Unconsciously, Poe 
cursed aloud. 

West, understanding his puzzled condition, hurriedly ex- 
plained the night episode, and Poe immediately remembered. 

Poe then kindly thanked the gentlemen, telling them that 
he had written it down in haste, and had taken advantage of 
Dr. Atwell's office because he was afraid he would forget it 
before he reached hime. Poe also apologized for its crudities 
— as he thought. Finally he stated that he had risen early 
Christmas morning for some reason or other, but why he did 
not know. But now he understood. He came in quest of 
the lost poem. 



102 



The Magazine 



Poe then treated the gentlemen to drink, expressing his 
appreciation of their kindness again. The visitors then 
departed. 

Soon the poem was published with slight variations. 
Critics heralded it as the greatest poem of American talent. 
Thus Poe gave to the world as a Christmas gift — on Christ- 
mas morning, 1842 — one of the finest and sweetest and most 
melodic specimens of poetic composition of all ages. 

Who knows but that Poe, on that early Christmas morn, 
heard the angels singing and tuning their harps and lyres of 
eold to welcome the new-born Babe of Bethlehem ? 




Le Vieil Omnibus" 103 



"He mtil Omnibus" 

P. E. Green 

Her home is one lone dirty room, 

A chair, a bed its furniture, 
And four nights up. Perennial gloom 

Clings to its ceiling ; yet I'm sure 
The lights that flash in her dull eyes 
Were gathered from far sweeter skies. 

Each week she dons her ragged best, 
And goes to see the movie show, 

Forgetting poverty's unrest 

In fairy scenes that come and go. 

And stings of ancient hurts and sins 

Are lost among the violins. 

All that her hungry heart desires 
Is hers — young love, a little child, 

Freedom and rest, and bright home fires. 
Her spirit leaps out in the wild, 

Sharp, roaring fight, the shots and bangs, 

And capers of the fierce mustangs. 

Some day she'll meet the common fate; 

They'll let her worn-out body down 
And cover it, a thing of hate — 

No sorrowing friends, no flowerlet crown 
To speak of love, — unknowing that 
This one of scorn with kings had sat. 



104 The Magazine 



2Dnce a CJ)ief- 



W. Edwin Matthews 

Lefty Mike straightened up from his crouching run and 
dropped the iron ball he was carrying. It did not roll from 
him. It was chained to his left leg. To Lefty it was a 
habit, a necessary evil. He could scarce remember when 
that ball of constraining steel had not dragged along behind 
him. Now it had become an impediment to his flight, and 
through Lefty's mind there flowed a familiar fire. Lefty 
knew it was hate, but grinning craftily, and with eyes shift- 
ing constantly from space to space in the sheltering plot of 
shrubs, he drew a small file from his ill-assorted costume and 
set to work on his shackles. He scowled good-naturedly at 
the thought of his detested striped uniform lying quietly at 
the bottom of East River. Once he would have smiled, but 
remembrance of a certain man-handling from the warden set 
his lips in lines that could not smile. 

Near the end of his task, the convict's brow became con- 
vulsed with impatience, sweat trickled clown his closely 
shaven head, and with a sudden wrench Lefty Mike stood 
free. Curiously he essayed a free step. His left shot ahead 
with surprising velocity, and he limped. This worried 
Lefty; it increased the danger of detection, and now that 
life was so near he could take no chances. Lefty crept to the 
fartherest shrub in the small park and looked with shortened 
vision down the great highway of art, beauty, life, and sin. 
To Lefty it was a road of sin and shame, but it spelled life to 
him in streaming letters. Some strange, untarnished nook 
of his memory held visions of a time long ago when this high- 



"Once a Thief " 105 

way held sweet pleasure, and he and his club friends called 
it the Primrose Path ; but that was long before Christopher 
Morley became Lefty Mike. 

Lefty was once a leader, but that too was long before the 
Fates slipped him a joker. The joker was a ten-year term 
on the Island, and Lefty found Blackwell's Island the 
grimmest of jokes. He meant to regain his old dominance in 
the world he had once known. He would fight for a position 
in the old, old life of Christopher Morley. 

With a final shifting glance from his beady eyes. Lefty 
Mike dissolved into the shrubbery, and Christopher Morley 
picked up the swinging stride of the Avenue. If any one 
noticed a slight limp in the walk of the man moving along 
the curb they probably thought some passing taxi had brushed 
him. A close observer might have told you that his clothes 
were a little out of date, but the Avenue has no time for 
observance of its drifters and their clothes. Does not one's 
valet attend to that ? 

Morley applied for positions. He became a devotee of the 
want ad columns of the Herald and the Times. Then quite 
suddenly Morley made a discovery. He had wondered why 
men agreed to employ him only to withdraw their offer when 
he walked back to the costumer. He found why in a Jew 
clothing store on one of the small veins that pour into the 
Avenue. As usual, he was employed, but when he started to 
deposit his coat and hat on the wall hook, the stocky little 
Jew started and exclaimed : "Vait ! vait ! You say nodings 
aboud der leemp. I vunce embloy a man who haf der leemp. 
Officer comb and close me op by der shop. You get oud !" 

Morley got. He wandered back to his park in a sort of 
daze, crushed under the realization that the world had and 
would throw him cold. Morley loved companionship, and to 
him there now came memories of his pals on the Island : 
Grogan with his sardonic leer; Jerry, who had the dis- 



106 The Magazine 

tinction of killing three cops with a balustrade wrenched 
from a raided resort; and "Little Maude," who convulsed 
the crowd with comic imitations of the warden. They all 
crowded into his heart and called strangely. Once Morley 
had memorized under pressure of the English Department, at 
Harvard, the famous soliloquy of Hamlet. Now he mumbled 
awkwardly through lips used to vituperation, "To be or not 
to be ; whether it is noble i' the mind," here memory deserted 
him, and he continued, "To fight the damn world or go back 
to my pals ?" His pals won. 

Decision once made, opportunities always present them- 
selves. In this instance, opportunity assumed the guise -of 
a well-meaning but misdirected old man and a park police- 
man. The man sat down beside Morley, the policeman 
sauntered slowly by. Christopher Morley could not find it in 
his heart to extract the engraved timepiece that he felt was 
at the end of that twisted chain across the old man's vest, but 
Lefty Mike came to life, and the park policeman came on the 
run in response to the quavering cry of the old man ; Lefty 
offered no resistance. This fact might have puzzled the 
policeman had he thought of it, but park policemen are not 
paid to think. So, Lefty again stood before a Judge. 

This Judge was not unlike his prototype the country over. 
He expounded the principles of law in an efficiently 
mechanical manner that caused him to be considered a com- 
petent Judge. He dealt out the tragic lives of men according 
to this statute or that article, so his preeminence was undis- 
puted. But of the heartaches and of the trembling hopes and 
fears that surged underneath each crime-creased face, he 
knew nothing. Assuming his voice of authority, he looked 
at Lefty and handed down his sentence : 

"Christopher Morley, alias Lefty Mike, you were practi- 
cally free, for your tracks were well covered. But you, like 
all of your class, gave up all the world had to offer you and 



"Once a Thief " 107 

took a chance of being thrown again with your vile com- 
panions. You gave up the chance of a decent life with 
respected people as though it was of no more value than a 
bubble blown; but it never fails — 'Once a thief, always a 
thief.' Three years to the regular sentence, Mr. Warden." 

Lefty Mike smiled and turned away. Happiness was 
written on his face. But the Judge saw neither the smile 
nor the lightened step. Perhaps he was thinking of the neck- 
lace which his daughter had that morning asked him to buy. 
Perhaps he was wondering how to keep the cook from leav- 
ing. Christopher Morley, alias Lefty Mike, was fartherest 
from his thoughts. 




108 The Magazine 



Ewaet W. G. Huffman 

I 
'Whippoorwill ! Whippoorwill !" 

'Tis night, the moon is high. 
'Whippoorwill ! Whippoorwill !" 
Comes this strange and hurried cry 
From over the hills, 
Sending its trills 
To the common passer-by ; 
Who passes on and seldom hears 
The beautiful notes its song reveres, 
As it calls night's lullaby ! 

II 

'Whippoorwill! Whippoorwill!" 

Hark ! is't a bird that muttereth so ? 
'Whippoorwill ! Whippoorwill !" 

Ever thus its call doth go, 
As it mourns unseen 
In the velvety green, 

And the tired day's afterglow. 
Stretching itself on a low lichen ledge 
By a rocky ridge and a woodland hedge, 

Sadly sings and wails in its woe. 



Night Song 109 

III 

"Whippoorwill ! Whippoorwill !" 
Such weird, uncanny screams! 
"Whippoorwill ! Whippoorwill !" 
Like a sentry in his dreams, 
Who thinks he dies, 
And strangely cries : — 
Then wakes in freed rapturous gleams ; 
In the deep gloam it sings and brings 
A mystic call from a thousand things, 
From a million stars and streams. 

IV 

"Whippoorwill ! Whippoorwill !" 

Brown bird of misery. 
"Whippoorwill ! Whippoorwill !" 
The world sends back reply. 
Queen of the night 
(The dark, dreary night), 
In song, make or flight 
Yet thou art still a mystery. 
Here in loneliness I strolled, 
For wild, weird lays and tales untold 
(But I heard thy song so bold), 
And I could not pass thee by ! 

L'envoi 

O here's to the song of the wild, weird bird, 

"Whippoorwill ! Whippoorwill !" 

With the strangest notes man ever heard : 

"Whippoorwill ! Whippoorwill !" 

Beautiful brown-colored bird ; 

Wonderful awe-filling bird. 

"Whippoorwill ! Whippoorwill !" 



110 The Magazine 



(Bmilit Ko0e ffiutos 

W. Edwin Matthews 

There sometimes comes to mere men the clear lilt of the 
lark rising above the chatter and jangle of sparrows and 
lesser birds. Such was the song that Emilie Hose Knox 
translated from a singing soul to strains that surged from her 
violin that eventful night in Gerrard Hall. I can close my 
eyes and see her there, her violin tucked 'neath her chin, head 
tilted slightly back as though in reverie, and the smooth, 
rythmical rise and fall of her arm as she coaxed the bow 
across the strings. 'Twas a song — and a picture — that made 
lesser singers tremble with the things they felt and sit in awe 
before the expression of something greater than their small 
souls could contain. 

She ran the scale of emotion and sounded every tone. And 
then, when the recital itself was over, and the crowd had gone 
outside, she came and stood in the doorway, an Angel or 
Goddess as you choose. From the frame of aged walls, this 
picture, this expression of the divine, came down to earth, 
and "Dear Old Pal of Mine" was voiced, was sung from the 
soul that lay within the violin. 

Good-byes were said, but the spirit awakened by the singer 
lived, and I can close these eyes that discern only the 
material, and back to me there comes the Angel in the 
Doorway. 



The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 

The Magazine, University of North Carolina, is published by the 
Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. Its object is to gather 
together what is best in the literary life of the students and give ex- 
pression to it. 

EDITORIAL STAFF 

J. P. Washburn, Phi Editor-in-Chief 

T. C. Wolfe, Di Assistant Editor-in-Chief 

ASSISTANT EDITORS 

W. R. Berryhill, Di. P. Hettleman, Phi. 

W. Le G. Blythe, Di. J. H. Kerr, Jr., Phi. 

W. B. Womble, Phi. 

MANAGERS 
G. D. Crawford, Di Business Manager 



D. D. Topping, Phi, ) . . . . „ 

W. A. Gardner Phi. \ Assistant Managers 


TEEMS OF SUBSCRIPTION, $1.00 A YEAR 




* 


editorials 


* 



In the past few years the price of athletic equipment has 
advanced, as has everything else, over a hundred per cent, 
and to offset this advance their has been no addition what- 
ever to the athletic fee. This means that athletics at the 
University must suffer as a result of lack of funds. In the 
past few years certain branches of athletics have suffered at 
the expense of large expenditures in other branches of 
athletics. This means, in its strictest sense, the giving of 
advantage to a few men, and neglecting another group at the 
expense of the former. This is a simple and obvious fact, 



112 The Magazine 

and one that is very unjust and undemocratic, for every man 
in the University is a member of the Athletic Association, 
all being assessed the same amount, and all should be given 
an equal opportunity in any branch of athletics that they see 
fit to go out for. To remedy this situation, to make athletics 
at the University what they should be, the student body 
should see to it that the athletic fee is increased; so as to 
assure every man of equal opportunity in any branch of 
athletics in which he wishes to take part. 



LITERARY OPPORTUNITIES OF THE LITERARY SOCIETIES 

When a man enters the University he is generally pre- 
sented with two aspects of the literary societies. Some 
ardent anti-society man is apt to warn a Freshman friend 
of his to be on guard against the canvassers for Phi and Di 
candidates, and not to join a society. And the next night the 
canvasser comes along and is met with opposition solid as a 
stone wall. The canvasser represents the affirmative aspect, 
but he has almost a hopeless chance to win over a man who 
has been pumped full of the negative dope, and here is where 
that man is the loser. Aside from the chance they offer to 
develop one's speaking ability, the literary societies offer 
wonderful literary opportunities. The Magazine was 
founded by the Di and Phi, and is still supported mainly by 
them. Each year the whole staff of The Magazine comes 
from the two societies, one of them furnishing the editor-in- 
chief, and the other the business manager in alternate years. 
Two out of every three years the societies furnish the editor- 
in-chief of the college annual, the fraternities furnishing the 
editor-in-chief the third year. Many men of marked literary 
ability avoid the literary societies, probably running their 
chances of "making" a fraternity, thus losing the oppor- 
tunities the societies offer. In the old days every student 



Editorials 113 

was compelled to join one of the two societies, the Eastern 
men the Phi, and the Western men the Di. This custom is 
still observed, except that it is not compulsory, but to-day 
every full-rounded college man should go forth from Carolina 
a Phi or Di man. These societies are the very guardians of 
the spirit of the college. The cracked walls, the worn seats, 
the faded curtains of the society halls seem to breathe the 
essence of the old culture and refinement and chivalry. 
There is literary inspiration in the portraits of the great men 
on the walls, in the light itself that so softly plays over the 
old rooms. The spirit of all that is best in the college is 
found in the two society halls, and thus, I say, do the societies 
furnish the literary man both with inspiration and an outlet 
for his genius. R R Toi^ma. 



ENDOWMENT CAMPAIGNS BOON TO EDUCATION 

Confidence that the three endowment fund campaigns of 
their universities would not only bring in the needed money 
for increased teachers, salaries, and new equipment, but 
would mark a period of enlightenment of the public on the 
cause of education, has been expressed by the presidents of 
Harvard, Cornell, and Princeton at a reception and meeting 
of team workers held at the Harvard Club by the women's 
committee of the New York Harvard drive. 

About five hundred people, mostly women interested in the 
endowment campaigns, heard Presidents Lowell, Hibben, and 
Schurman deliver their pleas for the teacher and the college, 
and heard the three different angles of the critical situation 
now facing endowed institutions of higher education. A 
feature of the messages was the sounding of the keynote of 
preparedness against Bolshevism, appealing for strong uni- 
versities to combat the evils of radicalism with knowledge 
and sound teaching. 



114 The Magazine 

Eliot Wadsworth, chairman of the Harvard Fund, pre- 
sided, and in introducing the speakers pointed out that 
through every crisis there is one guiding beacon that never 
dims, the beacon of education. The light of learning has 
always shined brightly, he declared, and must always, for, 
without the university, the country would not be where it is 
to-day ; for we would be without doctors, lawyers, engineers, 
and all the leaders trained in the arts and sciences. He 
maintained that the low standard of pay set for teachers 
threatens the profession of teaching in its growth and its 
influence. 

President Jacob Gould Schurman, of Cornell University, 
declared that in the past it has been the custom of wealthy 
alumni to contribute funds for buildings or to maintain 
scholarships for needy students. Nowadays, he said, the 
public is coming to realize that the soul of the university is 
its faculty. As the salary scale now stands, the faculties 
are being depleted, for hosts of young men with a real in- 
terest in learning are being literally "scared away" from 
teaching by the specter of starvation. In the future, unless 
the salary scale is changed, we shall have either a faculty 
of rich men only, or a faculty of men of mediocre ability. 
Radicalism, he pointed out, must be met by knowledge, and 
facts, and reason, and he maintained that the colleges are 
the country's greatest bulwark against Bolshevism and all 
that it means. 

President John Grier Hibben, of Princeton, pointed out 
to the audience, as mothers and fathers, that the college 
takes over the training of the country's youth at the most 
critical stage in its growth, and that it is therefore necessary 
to have none but the very best standard of instruction. He 
predicted that the three campaigns of Harvard, Princeton, 
and Cornell would not only bring in the necessary money, 
but would mark a period of general enlightenment in the 



Editorials 115 

cause of higher education. All that is needed to make all 
three drives a success, he said, is that the imagination of the 
public be awakened. He declared that the success of these 
first few campaigns would act as a tremendous stimulus for 
others which follow. 

Would it not be proper and fitting for our University, 
which has outgrown its present equipment, to be the first of 
all Southern Universities to take this forward step, for the 
sake of education; for the sake of Carolina and the Uni- 
versity that we love ? 



NEWSPAPERS AND THE CAROLINA MAN 

Hard-earned victory always brings its pleasant sensations, 
and Carolina men are apt to have a feeling of pride because 
of our football victory. The average college student of some- 
what an analytical bent realizes that victory is an outcome 
of many causes. It is a well-known fact that eleven men 
did not win the Thanksgiving game. The team itself would 
justly repudiate any attempts to make its members the sole 
heroes of the hour. What, then, was responsible for our 
victory ? 

The State, the alumni, and the University body can answer 
that question in clarion tones. The team can also tell you. 
And don't let anybody try to convince you that the Carolina 
spirit was not in that fight. 

An efficient, well-oiled football machine can only be 
created by strenuous effort. To call such a team his team 
is a privilege for every Carolina student. And every privi- 
lege involves a like obligation. Carolina students bravely, 
cheerfully, nobly, met this obligation and victory was the 
result. But during every flush of victory we must hesitate, 
if our victories are really to mean something. We met this 
obligation. How are we meeting our other obligations ? 



116 The Magazine 

The welfare of the State depends upon the quality of its 
citizenship. The privilege of attending a state university 
demands certain obligations. And Carolina students are 
not supporting that state obligation in the same thorough 
manner that they met their team obligation. 

The necessity for clear thinking is more paramount to-day 
than ever before. The whole country is undergoing a re- 
action, and vital problems, which must be solved if this 
nation is to endure, are being thrust upon us. These prob- 
lems are presented through our newspapers, and very few 
Carolina men read newspapers. Therein lies the rub. 

There is a probability that many people will suffer this 
winter because of the coal strike. Many coal miners in this 
country belong to the foreign element, but they are allowed 
the privilege of American citizenship. Are they properly 
meeting American obligations which spring from this citizen- 
ship ? As a college man, what opinion have you formed ? 

The coal strike is not the only problem that confronts us. 
Our troubles are as variegated as the colors of Jacob's coat, 
and they are all crying for solution. We can not dodge them. 
If they are not met now, they must of a necessity be met 
later. 

Carolina men have shown that they know how to meet 
certain obligations. Citizenship duties are more vital than 
ever before, and the world is expecting the college man to 
meet these obligations. It is our heritage that we will not 
fail to shoulder our proper tasks. We will read newspapers ! 

Phillip Hettleman. 



TAKING INVENTORY 

Do you realize, fellows, that one-third of our year's work 
is over ? The Fall Term's advantages are gone. We have 
either failed or won. Whether the former or the latter, we 



Editorials 117 

will do well to recount the actions, look back over our daily 
life for the last three months. Just wherein have we failed ? 
Or where have we made a stride that has carried us over the 
"goal-line" ? 

But let's don't make the mistake, too often made, of becom- 
ing despondent over a "6" that we have made. In the words 
of Parson Moss, "Let's absorb that '6'. Let's grow through 
it and profit by our mistakes." The good sport doesn't com- 
plain and lay blame on his professor, or say it is just hard 
luck. But he grits his teeth and determines that it will not 
happen again. 

One of the advantages of our Quarter System, which we 
have already come to appreciate, is that we may stop just 
now and look at ourselves. For that is all an examination 
is anyway. We may go to our homes free, with no past work 
hanging over our heads. But before we go, we are going 
to make up our minds that the Second Quarter will be better 
than the first. That it will mean more to each of us and to 
the University as a whole. 

Fellows, when you have made that decision and have gotten 
it already into your system — if it has burnt its way into you 
through the instrumentalities of a "5" or "6" — then for- 
get the last quarter, go home and spend a pleasant vacation, 
and last of all, come back with that determination crystalized 
into an eagerness for actual work. Tell the folks at home 
that you have just found yourself and that from now on they 
are going to have good reports from you. 

C. W. Phillips. 



118 The Magazine 



J0ig!)t 

W. Edwin Matthews 

Day fades, glides away; 

Night lowers a heavy mantle, 

Cattle mill restlessly around. 

In a tree a lone bird 

Chirps. 

Dusk deepens, softening lights 

Fade and glimmer. 

A cricket strikes a monotone, 

Humming shrilly. 

The crunching step of some traveler 

Late in passing 

Stirs a dog who shatters the quiet 

With energetic barking. 

It passes, all grows still again. 

Now crickets break the silence, 

Piping insistent cries. 

Rabbits play about in a field 

Lighted by the moon. 

Through bordering bushes peer foxes 

Warily. 

A shadow glides terrifyingly 

Across the moon, 

Causing the rabbits to freeze 

Stiffly. 

Night's mystery gives nature 

Life; 

Men roll restlessly, 

And murmur in their 

Sleep. 



AD VER T I SEMEN TS 



DRUGGISTS REXALL STORE 

PATTERSON BROS. 



SHAEFFER AND WATERMAN FOUNTAIN PENS 
NORRIS CANDIES CUT FLOWERS 

Symphony Lawn, Gentlemen Club, Carlton Club — Correct 
Stationery for Gentlemen 



THE CAROLINA MAN'S SHOE STORE 

When we have said that we have said it all, because they 
know good shoes and they always get them at 

CARE-BRYANT'S 

CARR-BRYANT'S BOOT and SHOE CO. 

106 WEST MAIN ST., DURHAM, N. C. 



When in Greensboro, Stop in at 

I. ISAACSON 

For Nifty Young Men's Clothes and Furnish- 
ings at Moderate Prices 

R. Blacknall & Son 

DRUGGISTS 
GEER BLDG., OPP. POST-OFFICE DURHAM, N. C. 

FIRST-CLASS CANDIES 

HEADQUARTERS FOR CAROLINA MEN 

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ADVERTISEMENTS 



GONE CRAZY? YES— EVERYTHING AND 
EVERYBODY— 

but don't worry about other folk's trouble. You sure have to wear 

clothes, regardless of crazy prices. We are all making money and 

ought to be happy. Come in and let's get acquainted. 

CLOTHING AND FUKNISHING 
DONNELL & MEDEARIS, Inc. 

GREENSBORO NORTH CAROLINA 



The Yarborough 

Raleigh's Leading and Largest Hotel 

THE YARBOROUGH CAFE 

ONE OF THE BEST IN THE SOUTH 

Special Attention to Dinner Parties and Banquets 

B. H. GRIFFIN HOTEL CO. 



THE EFIRD CHAIN 

of Department Stores 

We operate Department Stores throughout North and 

South Carolina. The Efird Chain is the greatest in the 

Carolinas. When in Raleigh and Durham, visit our 

stores— "WE SELL IT FOR LESS." 

EFIRD DEPARTMENT STORE 

RALEIGH NORTH CAROLINA 



THE 


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HILL 


M. C. S. 


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ATTENTION, UNIVERSITY MEN! 

When in Greensboro, Stop at the 

HUFFINE HOTEL 

At the Passenger Depot — First-Class Dining-Koom and 
Quick Lunch Eoom 

J. It. DONNELL, Manager and Proprietor 



THE BEST SHOES FOR YOU 

Are those that combine the best in style and quality. 
We have them. 
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COUSIN'S, GROVER'S AND SELBY'S FOR LADIES 
MERRIAM CHILDREN'S SHOES 

OURS IS THE MOST COMPLETE STOCK IN DURHAM 

PERRY-HORTON COMPANY 



EVERYTHING IN STATIONERY AT 

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KODAKS DEVELOPING ENLARGING 

SUPPLIES PRINTING FRAMING 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 



A SHOP FOR COLLEGE BOYS 


SOCIETY BRAND CLOTHES— MANHATTAN SHIHTS 


Always Something New in Haberdashery and Hats 
10 Per Cent Discount to College Men 


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RALEIGH NORTH CAROLINA 



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GOOCH'S CAFE 

The place of good eats for the hungry man. Midnight 
lunches a specialty. 

"CAROLINA MEN FIRST" 



BROADWAY CAFE 

OPPOSITE POST-OFFICE GREENSBORO, N. C. 

CATERS TO COLLEGE MEN 



Anything You Want — Call 

Odell Hardware Co, 

GREENSBORO 



EUBANKS DRUG COMPANY 

OFFERS 27 YEARS' EXPERIENCE 



BOYS, LET 'LONG'' BILL JONES 

DO YOUR PRESSING 
CLEANING— ALTERING— REPAIRING 

SAME GOOD WORK Next Door to Chapel Hill News 



CALL ON 

S. E. POYTHRESS 

FOR 
FRUITS, CIGARS, CIGARETTES, CAKES, CANDIES, ETC. 

Next Door to Post-Office 



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ADVERTISEMENTS 



A. A. Kluttz Co. 

EVERYTHING FOR THE STUDENT 



THE ROYALL & BORDEN CO. 

Corner Main and Market Sts. Durham, North Carolina 

Takes pleasure in advertising in the University publica- 
tions, and invites the Students, Faculty, and friends of 
the Great Institution to trade with us when they need 

FURNITURE AND RUGS 

AGENTS FOR COLUMBIA GRAFONOLAS AND RECORDS 



The Greensboro Daily News 



Is the favorite newspaper of many North Caro- 
lina people, because its broad liberal policy and 
its excellent news service appeals to them. 
North Carolina is a great state, and the Daily 
News stands for those things which tend to up- 
build it. 

Keep abreast with present-day events by subscrib- 
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THE ALUMNI REVIEW 

Monthly Journal of the General Alumni Association of 
the University of North Carolina. A live publication 
that will keep you in touch with the University — inside 
and outside. $1.50 PER YEAR. 



FIX UP YOUR ROOM 

RUGS, ROCKERS, PICTURES, CURTAINS, BOOKCASES— in fact, 
everything for the student's room 

E. A. BROWN 

CHAPEL HILL NORTH CAROLINA 



PERRY & LLOYDS' 


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IN NEW BUILDING— NEXT 


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ADVER T I SEMEN TS 




When a young man signs a contract with the SOUTHERN 
LIFE AND TRUST COMPANY, we don't pat him on the back, 
turn him loose and tell him to "go to it." We give him a course 
in our Training School, and then keep in touch with him and help 
overcome his weak points and strengthen his strong points. As 
a result, our Training School graduates are making good. 

Ask for particulars. 

SOUTHERN LIFE AND TRUST CO. 

GREENSBORO, N. C. 



A. W. McALISTER, President 
R. G. VAUGHN, First Vice-Pres. 
A. M. SCALES, Second Vice-Pres. 



R. J. MEBANE, Third Vice-Pres. 

ARTHUR WATT, Secretary 

H. B. GUNTER, Assistant Secretary 



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,Q UAL IT V 



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HIS Magazine is a fair 
sample of our work in 
printing of this nature. 
We specialize in Annuals, 
Hand-books, Stationery for 
Fraternities and Sororities, 
Dance Cards, Programs, In- 
vitations, Club Booklets, etc. 
Samples and prices gladly 
submitted upon request. 



J. P. Bell Co., inc. 

Printers, Stationers, Engravers, 
Booksellers 

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MEMBER FEDERAL RESERVE SYSTEM 

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and best Commercial and Tourist Hotel 

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WADE H. LOWRY, Manager 




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smart, correct style, fab- 
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standard quality of tail- 
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MAGAZINE 

University of North Carolina 




NEOPHYTE NUMBER 



February, 1920 



ADVERTISEMENTS 



The University of North Carolina 

Maximum Service to the People of the State 



A. THE COLLEGE OF LIBERAL ARTS 

B. THE SCHOOL OF APPLIED SCIENCE 

(1) Chemical Engineering 

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The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 

Old Series Vol. 50 Number 3 New Series Vol. 37 

Contents 

PAGE 

The Common Herd. William D. Harris 121 

Edward Kidder Graham : Teacher and Interpreter 

of Modern Citizenship. Louis R. Wilson 124 

Religion and the College Campus. William II. 

Andrews, Jr 133 

Love and Friendship. J. B. Stratton 135 

He Believed in Signs. /. W. Love 136 

When I Go Home. W. E. Horner 142 

The Key. 0. B. Porter 145 

Poet or Novelist. S. Kita 154 

The Confederate Statue Speaks. Henry D. Stevens 157 

The Honor System. John Kerr 160 

Phases of the Student Conference in Des Moines. 

C. W. Phillips 163 

Editorials 165 

Waiting. Ewart W. G. Huffman 174 



& J>eto |9ear draper 



3"^ auD prejuUtce, botb teal anD 
sfceming injustice anD inequality, anD 
tbe blackness? of Despair tooulD settle 
otoer our lanD toere it not tbat faitb, 
bope anD ctjartts still abiDe— faitb tbat 
a Deeper fcnotoleDge of tbe foiSDom of 
our institutions totll be imparteD to 
eber^ son attD Daughter of ttje republic; 
bope tbat more anD more all mtn fcoill 
turn from tbe contemplation of tbeir 
rigbts to a consideration of tbeir Duties, 
anD cftartt^ for all tobo are not bicious, 
but tobo, tbrougb stress of circum* 
stances, babe become embittered 

<0od of our fatbers, take from us, if 
Cbou toilt, material prosperity anD 
national gloria but gibe us inDibiDuallg 
anD collectibel^ all tbe gears to come 
faitb, b^pe anD ttymty" 



The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 

Old Series Vol. 50 Number 3 New Series Vol. 37 



Cfte Common l^etO 

William D. Harris 

Do not think that this title is chosen in any spirit of snob- 
bish or supercilious aloofness. It is but to emphasize our 
indignation at any revolt from the present-day trend of level- 
ing. It seems that we are in an era where the great mountain 
peaks of mankind — the Pitts, the Washingtons, the Websters, 
the Calhouns, the Carlyles, and the Lees — have been sub- 
merged under what might be termed the sea of mediocrity. 
It is no longer popular to be great, to thrust one's head above 
the common level is treason against the proletariat. Down 
with individualism ! Long live the Soviet ! Wave the red 
flag! Down with the law! These are evils significant of 
the present state of affairs. 

But no one need be unduly pessimistic ; especially should 
an American not be pessimistic. When the melting pot is 
heated the scum rises to the top. The time of cooling will 
soon set in. The normal status of sanity will be resumed. 
We do not mean to state that the great cataclysm brought 
about by the world-war has not changed standards and con- 
ditions — or, at least, has made modifications. But in spite 
of wars and everything else, human beings continue to be 
Human Beings. The normal status of security and order, 
modified by the influence of recent world events, will 
presently be attained. Especially is this true in Anglo-Saxon 



122 The Magazine 

countries. For with all of his restless energy and love 
of adventure, the Anglo-Saxon is a lover of law and order. 
But he reserves to himself certain inalienable rights that he 
will not part with for the sake of the proletariat, the Soviet, 
or a Holy"(?) Russia. This spirit of our race is our salva- 
tion, in these Bolsheviki times, when sallow-faced parlor 
debauchees and bewhiskered I. W. W.'s are preaching com- 
munism, sabotage, and revolution. 

The system of private property is the result of man's 
progress in the pathway of civilization. The earliest, most 
savage tribes known to students of history were the com- 
munists. The nocks, weapons of war, and even the women 
and children were the property of the tribe. Communism 
rampant ! As mankind improved in the tedious, hard school 
of experience, the system of private property was gradually 
evolved. Members of the tribe by virtue of possession began 
to lay claim to ownership of flocks, of weapons, and of wives. 
Slowly through the ages the idea of regard for others' rights 
made way. The right of property, the basis of modern 
civilization, was made sure. 

Attacks upon this institution form the basis of all the 
"Red" agitation of an era. The ignorant, slothful, and de- 
praved, who know not that the greatest good to all is to be 
attained through the ages-proved methods of man, are in their 
blindness attempting to reform this old world in a twinkling 
of the eye. What they would have — were their efforts suc- 
cessful — is a reversion to the tribal communism of thousands 
of years ago. Witness Russia to-day, where women are the 
property of the state! 

The institution of private property will stand. Indivi- 
dualism will not succumb to the inroads of communism. It 
will not be the old "laissez-faire" individualism. There will 
be more and more of the humanitarian element. This will 
strengthen individualism that bears a proper relation to 



The Common Heed 123 

others, to the community. A nation of independent, liberty- 
loving individuals — as we are — will not be stampeded into 
communism. If we mistake not, a reaction from the com- 
munistic trend has already set in. 

We believe in a world safe for democracy. But a 
democracy, as our race conceives it, respects the rights of the 
individual and gives him opportunity to cultivate his 
capacities — for the ultimate good of the whole. But this is 
no time for easy-going tolerance, for temporizing with red- 
shirt radicals. The great tradition of ordered liberty and 
progress is our proudest, most precious heritage. We refuse 
to be forced to the level of the common herd. We are human 
beings with God-given attributes and rights. We are not 
animals to be corralled by Russian or Prussian communism. 
We cling to the political and social philosophy of an Anglo- 
Saxon ancestry. We have not that individual cowardice and 
spirit of shirking which tends to communism. 'Tis man's 
God-given duty and privilege to work out his own destiny. 

The individual should regard the welfare of the com- 
munity, but there must and will be a due recognition of the 
individual's rights to a life, liberty, and the pursuit of 
happiness." 



124 The Magazine 



OBtitoarO ffitfOOer ©raijam: Ceacfjer anO 
interpreter of S©o0ern Cfti?ens6ip* 

Louis R. Wilson 

In 1909, in an address delivered before the North Carolina 
Teachers' Assembly on "The Teacher and Modern Democ- 
racy/' Edward Kidder Graham, then professor of English at 
the University, employed these significant words: 

"The best teacher I ever had, I think, the one that brought 
me to myself and took me out of the ranks of the 'undesir- 
ables,' was a man who knew less than any teacher I ever had. 
He did not know enough to 'work' 9th grade arithmetic, or 
translate the fables in Harkness' first Latin book; yet he 
gave to every boy in his room the ideal of liberal citizenship 
for his possession, and the ambition to make the most of him- 
self for the sake of the State." 

Again, in 1911, as Dean of the College of Liberal Arts, 
in an essay entitled, "A North Carolina Teacher," written 
in loving appreciation of his former teacher, the late Pro- 
fessor Thomas Hume, he challenged a statement of Professor 
Barrett Wendell, of Harvard University, in these significant 
words: "He is a sadly astray guide who calls teaching c a 
sterile field.' That will not be true until pliable humanity 
is worn down to a breed of barren metal. Experience re- 
veals a different display of facts. Few of the achievements 
of men have been solitary triumphs. They were first laid 
with words of grateful discipleship at the feet of some 
teacher." 

Again, in 1914, in his inaugural address, when he was 
assuming in solemn assembly the high duties of the first 



*Read before the North Carolina State Literary and Historical Asso- 
ciation, Raleigh, N. C, November 22d. 



Edward Kidder Graham 125 

teacher of the State, and as such was making clear the 
function of the institution over which he had been called to 
preside, he said: "The professions of law, medicine, the 
ministry, journalism, commerce, and the rest are essential to 
the upbuilding of a democratic commonwealth; but they 
must be interpreted, not as adventures in selfish advancement, 
but as enterprises in constructive statesmanship, liberating 
both the state and the man. It is the function of the uni- 
versity, not only to train men in the technique of the law, but 
to lift them to a higher level of achievement by making them 
living epistles of social justice; not only to make clever 
practitioners of medicine, but to lift them into conservators 
of the public health ; not merely to train teachers in the 
facts and methods of education, but" — your attention is 
particularly directed to this sentiment — "but to fire them 
with the conviction that they are the productive creators of a 
new civilization." 

And, still again, in the tense autumn of 1917, to his fellow- 
teachers in annual assembly, after America had taken up the 
gauge of battle in defense of human liberty, and looking with 
rare penetration beyond the vale of bitter conflict to the 
present hour of victory, he said : "We are to form after this 
war, as men have after every great human upheaval, a new 
concept of what it means to be a good man and a good citizen. 

"The need of the world for intelligent and sympathetic 
leadership that constitutes the distinctive service of teaching 
makes freshly luminous the great and joyous job we have to 
do in the world, and gives to us a new inspiration for doing 
it superlatively well. 

"The world is unifying itself in this terrible ordeal of fire 
to write, not for us alone, but for all mankind, a new chapter 
in progress in new terms of the divine nature of human life, 
through which, under God, we shall have a new birth of 
material and spiritual freedom. And of this, that is nothing 



126 The Magazine 

less than a new center of gravity of all human conduct, the 
priest and prophet of democracy, whether peaceful or 
militant, is the teacher in the schools of the nation." 

These terse sentences, ladies and gentlemen, taken from 
four notable addresses delivered within the the decade 1909- 
1918, in which Graham's genius for leadership and rare elo- 
quence fired the imagination of the State and gripped the 
thinking of the nation, set forth in focal light the high ideal 
that he cherished for himself — that of becoming in full truth 
teacher and interpreter of the larger citizenship. They re- 
veal the heart of the great matter at which he wrought from 
the time he received the priceless possession from the hands 
of his unlettered teacher until in the full flower of his 
strength he was called to pass in on to other hands. 

It is to the development of this theme, therefore, this con- 
ception of the teacher-interpreter, and to the applications 
which he made of it in his notable career as educational 
statesman, that I shall devote myself in the moments you have 
so generously given me as your representative on this occa- 
sion to pay tribute to his high service. 

Graham was no believer in what he was pleased to style 
the "pouring in" process of teaching, the process of present- 
ing the data of learning without fusing it with life and spirit. 
To know the date at which Shakespeare wrote "The 
Tempest," or to be familiar with the legendary sources from 
which the Hamlet story was drawn, were not for him the 
essentials in the study of the master dramatist. To teach 
these wonderful plays in this spiritless, routine way was to 
miss the enchanting beauty of the one, and leave the Hamlet 
out of the other. On the contrary he held that instructor to 
be most of worth who utilized the media of instruction, 
whether the classics, the applied sciences, or vocational sub- 
jects, as agencies by means of which the student found him- 
self. The mastery of the body of facts involved was essential, 



Edward Kidder Graham 127 

to be sure, but not the highest end. In his classroom he 
taught his students English literature, but while doing this 
the real objective which he had in mind was not that his 
pupils should acquire the data of literature, but its spirit; 
not that he should so drill them that they might pass the 
examinations set, but that in the light of new and higher 
standards first seen in the illumined page of some master 
spirit, they might so examine and discipline and relate them- 
selves to the task of the hour as to learn the fine art of true 
living. In 1915, in an address to the student body at the 
opening of the University, he summarized his thought as to 
where instruction and training should lead in these words : 

"No student is truly trained unless he has learned to do 
pleasantly, and promptly, and with clear-cut accuracy every 
task he has obligated himself to do ; . . . unless he puts 
into his work his own personal curiosities and opens his 
faculties to a lively and original interest in his work that 
leads him to test for himself what he is told ; . . . unless 
he gets from his contact with the master spirits of the race 
those qualities of taste and behavior and standards of judg- 
ment that constitute a true gentleman; . . . unless he 
realizes that he does not live to himself alone, but is a part 
of an organic community life that is the source of most of the 
privileges he enjoys." Continuing the theme a year later to 
another incoming class, and phrasing it differently, he said: 
"To become a true University man . . . does not mean 
the abandonment of any legitimate sort of happiness what- 
ever, nor the loss of any freedom. The adventure of discov- 
ering and liberating one's mind, far from being a dull and 
dreary performance, is the most thrilling of all youthful ad- 
ventures. There is no question of self-punishment or ex- 
ternal discipline, but only the freedom of becoming one's 
own master, instead of a slave to the tyranny of one's low 
and cheap desires. To come into this insight is to see this 



128 The Magazine 

organized discovery of the mind that we call education, not as 
learning, but as a love of knowledge ; not as a matter of being 
industrious, but of loving industry; not as a matter of giv- 
ing us a good start toward a middle-age success, but to enable 
us to keep growing, and so lay hold on the eternal spring 
of life." 

Graham was an idealist in the truest sense. But he was 
also a pragmatist remarkably successful in combining his 
ideals in a program in which they could be realized. As 
such, he was not merely content to present ideals to his stu- 
dents, to interpret for them the finer things of the spirit, to 
point the way to larger citizenship. He went a step further 
and demonstrated the way by which they could begin to 
realize their ideals for themselves. He solved this problem, 
which to most teachers proves a stone of offense, by calling 
upon the student body to become a self-governing group, to 
put the ideal of ' good citizenship to work on their own 
campus ; to discover for themselves the relationships which 
they should sustain to the University and to one another, and 
then so safeguard and respect them as to perfect and make 
workable the democracy which they constituted — a thing 
which, under his inspirational guidance, so challenged their 
imagination and hearts as to result in the disappearance of 
prodding discipline and the establishment of ideal standards 
of student conduct. He began by presenting to his students 
the facts of literature. His task was ended only when at some 
later day there stood before him the self-discovered, self- 
disciplined, self-governing student-citizen-to-be. 

Graham's conception of the function of the University — 
a conception which won for him immediate recognition as a 
new type of virile constructive educational leader — was of the 
same sort. He conceived of it as an aggregate of teachers and 
interpreters fused into the State's chief instrument, not 
merely for assisting local students in acquiring a body of 



Edward Kidder Graham 129 

learning and finding themselves, but also for carrying truth 
to every citizen of the commonwealth. He would have it not 
only carry information to those who sought it, but through the 
information thus carried would so enrich the inner life of 
those to whom the truth was borne that they would find their 
chief happiness in making the common good more widely 
prevail. 

Graham's program for the schools and colleges of the 
nation during the stress of war was similar. The war simply 
clarified and intensified his conception of their task. Their 
function had always been to furnish men ideals by which to 
live, and, if need be, die. In the nation's supreme ordeal of 
fire it was the same. This was their birthright and most 
sacred duty. Theirs, above all others, was the coveted privi- 
lege of posting on the lintels of the nation the undying prin- 
ciples of justice, freedom, and brotherhood for which America 
has stood, and for which, in the face of fire and sword, and 
death, she would ever stand. In three moving addresses de- 
livered during the war period before teacher audiences — 
"Certain War-Time Duties of Teachers," "Patriotism and 
the Schools," "The American University and the New 
Nationalism" — he proclaimed them the sources of morale, 
the deep springs of spirit and sublime faith through which 
the youth of America destined for the fields of Trance would 
prove equal to their task. So firm was his convictions that 
this was the high privilege of American colleges, and so con- 
fident was he that his Alma Mater had availed herself of it 
and had made spirit vital in the hearts of her sons ; so con- 
fident was he of this, it was possible . for him, on an October 
morning forever memorable in the annals of American educa- 
tion, to say to his soldier-students — our sons and brothers: 
"The spirit of this campus, the spirit of our State and 
country, the spirit of the world to-day assure to us the 



130 The Magazine 

continuing courage and complete devotion that will bring to a 
glorious fulfillment the noblest adventure that ever called to 
the aspiring spirit of youth." 

Extending this theory of instruction beyond the walls of 
the schoolroom, or college, or university, where students 
under skilled guidance could be led to the discovery of them- 
selves, President Graham, in notable addresses before this 
association, the North Carolina Social Conference, the 
Teachers' Assembly, the American Bankers' Association, 
and other State and national organizations, carried the same 
message to banker, and editor, and lawyer, and farmer. 
Again and again he called upon men in all professions and all 
callings to make the discovery of themselves through their 
work, even though that work was infinitely removed from 
the classroom. From a hundred platforms, and with com- 
pelling eloquence, he urged them to consider their tasks in all 
their relations to the public welfare ; for achievement in 
medicine, achievement in banking, achievement in agricul- 
ture, touched with fine feeling and accompanied by a genuine 
desire to find truth, he held, becomes culture and leads to the 
true art of living, to perfect citizenship. The Apostle Paul, 
in the Epistle to the Hebrews, declared that the law had been 
given to serve as schoolmaster to prepare men for the new 
and better dispensation. Edward Kidder Graham, in that 
remarkably illuminating essay, "Culture and Commercial- 
ism," declared with gripping conviction, that work, that 
achievement, that the daily task, when approached with open 
mind and sincere heart, become the teacher, the interpreter 
of the higher life, the larger citizenship ; and the numerous 
addresses following it, such as "Culture, Agriculture, and 
Citizenship," "Higher Education and Business," "Banking 
and the Larger Citizenship," "Prosperity and Patriotism," 
and the call to North Carolina to spend a week in the study 
of civic problems, were but applications of this fundamental 



Edward Kidder Graham 131 

principle to specific cases. This, ladies and gentlemen, was 
the message he brought to the classroom and the campus of 
the University ; this was the gospel of sweetness and light to 
the furtherance of which he brought the quickening power 
of his magnetic personality and the resources of the State's 
great democratic institution. And this is the vineyard in 
which he would have us go work to-day. 

Ladies and gentlemen, I have not set down in this memorial 
record any of the data of Graham's brilliant career: of his 
life as a student on the campus, of his distinctive service as 
professor and dean, of the high position in the sisterhood of 
American universities to which he brought his Alma Mater, 
and of the significant recognition he quickly won in the field 
of national leadership. I have not spoken of his inspiring 
personality, or of those radiant qualities of mind and heart 
by which he drew and bound men to him as with cords of 
steel; or of the glow of comprehending friendship felt by 
those who shared with him the joyous companionship of his 
fireside. Nor have I referred, except by inference, to the 
fervor of his eloquence by which he moved the hearts of men, 
or to his deft skill in words with which he clothed his thought. 
And until now I have left unnoted, except in casual way, the 
all-too-compressed sheaf of essays and occasional papers 
which came from his pen in leisure hours — such as "The 
Poetry of John Charles McNeil," "A North Carolina 
Teacher," "The Essays of Dr. Crothers," "The Heading of 
Children," "The Greatness of Two Great Men," "Happiness" 
— papers characterized by grace and playful humorousness of 
style, the counterpart of his more militant mood, and ex- 
pressive of his fine spirituality and large humanhood. 

Since his death, other members of this association, from 
various platforms and through publications of wide circula- 
tion, have paid loving tribute to him as teacher, executive, 
interpreter of culture and democracy, as leader in State and 



132 The Magazine 

nation, as speaker and writer of virile power, and as radiant 
personality and inspirer of men. Furthermore, yours has been 
the fortune, as well as mine, to walk with him, teacher and 
interpreter of the citizenship of the new day, in joyous com- 
radeship, and you, as well as I, know how far short words 
fail to portray the values of a life which can best be described 
in terms of spirit or pure flame. Therefore, I have held 
myself to the strict limitations assigned me by your Secre- 
tary. And so, in this tense hour, this time of turmoil and 
pregnant flux, when men, for personal or class advantage, 
forget the relations of their tasks to the public welfare ; this 
moment of the nation's peril when clear-visioned leaders such 
as he are required to catch up and bear aloft the torch now 
fallen from his hands, I would remind us of the teacher he 
found worthy of highest honor — the teacher who could not 
work the problems of 9th grade arithmetic or translate the 
simplest Latin fables, but sent every one of his pupils out 
into life with an ideal of citizenship and an ambition to be 
and do something worth while for the State. In this moment 
when we seek to pay honor to his memory here where he 
served us and his State and country, I would remind us of 
the great lesson which he, as the teacher and interpreter of 
the larger citizenship, would have us learn, and to which, in 
these clear, ringing words, he called us : 

" Where shall we begin this necessary task of realizing our 
dream of commonwealth that will be satisfied with nothing 
less than the common weal of all ? Where, but here and now ? 
Nothing can act but where it is. Our greatest lesson is to 
learn that these streets and stores and fields — the earth and 
the sky in all of their daily manifestations — are but 'folds 
across the face of God' ; that the 'Thy will' for which we 
daily pray will be done here and now or nowhere ; and that 
agriculture, business, freedom, education, and religion are 
but instruments in our hands for finding the common God in 
the common good and making His will prevail." 



Keligion and the College Campus 133 



Religion anD tfte College Campus 

William H. Andrews, Jr. 

Most boys before going to college live what is termed a 
religious life. They are brought up in their home com- 
munities under the supervision of their parents. A large 
number become members of some church at an age when 
they hardly know what a church is, or what is the function of 
the church in one's spiritual life. They are sent to church 
by their parents until they reach the age that they go either 
because they feel the need of religion in their lives, or to 
keep up their good social standing in the community. 

This method stresses the form of religion, and neglects its 
real bigness ; for religion is bigger than any form. 

These boys are sent from such communities to colleges 
where there is a great amount of freedom. They are no 
longer compelled to follow the old forms, and are not even 
required to attend church. In fact, the old method is all 
discarded entirely. They are told that religion is bigger 
than any form — that it is life ; but they are unable to under- 
stand such a statement, never having looked at religion in 
this light — they need to be grown to such an idea. As a 
result, a large number become indifferent about church at- 
tendance; they do not feel any direct connection to their 
college church, and so feel no responsibility to it. Unless 
there is some special effort to line them up they gradually 
drift away and finally become very individualistic. They 
begin to put their own, and sometimes very wrong, interpre- 
tation on religion, and by the time they have reached their 
Junior year they have very narrow views, or none at all. 

Some have curiosity enough to take a course in philosophy 
or religion. As a rule they go on class with a doubtful or a 



134 The Magazine 

criticizing mind and try to pick flaws in the lecture. As a 
result, very often the lecture is misinterpreted and the stu- 
dent goes away really worse than he was when he went on. 
He then calls the courses a foggy; takes no more, and goes 
away with his mind contaminated with a lot of misinfor- 
mation. 

Religion is more than learning a lot of facts about who 
the Good Samaritan was, or how many wives Abraham had, 
or if Jesus ever mashed his finger. Religion is living an 
abundant life. In the words of Dr. Eddy, "It's not how to 
make a living, but how to make a life." Each one of us are 
little Christs, or we have Christ possibilities in us. The 
fuller life we live the more we put to work that dominant 
power. 

The Carolina campus has that fine spirit. We have 
absorbed it into what we call our Carolina Spirit— that's 
what makes it so fine. It is, then, essential that the fine 
religious spirit be felt more keenly on the campus. If it 
grows the Carolina Spirit will grow, if it does not the Caro- 
lina Spirit is sure to rot- 
One of the most effective ways to raise the religions stand- 
ards of the campus is to have a general course in religion 
open to all classes. It should be voluntary — for to impose it 
upon any one would destroy the spirit in which it is given — 
and should be credited towards any degree. The advantages 
of such a course are too numerous to relate. It is a course 
the need of which is felt on the campus, and the State and 
the University authorities should be interested enough to 
give it a trial. 



Love and Friendship 135 



kotoe anD jFrienOgfnp 

J. B. Stratton 

I 

The birds, when winter shades the sky, 

Fly o'er the seas away, 
Where laughing isles in sunshine lie, 

And summer breezes play! 

II 

And thus the friends that nutter near 
While fortune's sun is warm, 

Are startled if clouds appear, 
And fly before the storm ! 




136 The Magazine 



i£>e T5eitetoed in §>igtt0 

J. W. Love 

A sign is a little thing, but it often causes a lot of excite- 
ment, trouble, happiness, bank failures, mad-cap adventures, 
and indigestion. The one which hung over Bill's desk was a 
small, inoffensive little card, about six inches square, with 
this not very astounding assertion printed upon it: "It can 
be done." Bill believed in that sign. He believed in it like 
some men believe in the Democratic nominees, and others 
believe in wearing overshoes. He believed ; blindly, perhaps, 
but truly and whole-heartedly. 

Bill was a salesman. The sign was the secret of his suc- 
cess. In every sense of the word and under all conditions 
he was a true salesman. Like great wealth, curly hair, and 
a love for olives, some have this ability wished upon them, 
others acquire it by stealth, and a few are born with it. Bill's 
embraced him affectionately on his natal morn. And the 
peculiar thing about it was that it wasn't confined to any 
particular article, or to any section of the world, or to any 
race, whatever previous condition of servitude. I honestly 
believe that boy could have sold electric fans to the languish- 
ing Esquimaux, or dancing pumps to the wild and woolly 
Nigorote. 

His parents christened him William Brook Percival 
Buchanan, but time and a hardy physique helped him live it 
down. In school the kids began calling him Bill and it stuck, 
much to his relief. At the tender age of eight he surprised 
the family by leading home a goodly-sized Holstein calf that 
he had swapped for a bull terrier, eighty-one cents in money, 
a pocket full of marbles, and a large, rusty revolver with the 



He Believed in Signs 137 

hammer broken off. The family made him return the calf. 
After that Bill never really trusted his family and he always 
kept his good bargains a secret. 

Twenty-one, the time we interrupt Bill's hitherto happy 
life, found him with the International Insurance Co., home 
office, New York ; branches in London, Paris, Cairo, Bankok, 
etc., etc. He was selling insurance, selling it as though it 
were options on the corner lots in Paradise. He turned into 
a statistics hound, too, the sign said it could be done, and he 
knew many interesting facts: how many canary birds over 
the age of six were sure to die next year, and how soon the 
female of the species was destined for false teeth and low- 
heeled shoes. He could tell your height in your holeproofs 
to one-sixteenth of an inch, and he knew the true meaning 
of an ingrowing love for apple dumplings on the digestion. 

"Alas ! alas !" as Confucius remarked, "a lot of learning 
is a dangerous thing." And so it is. Bill, without quite 
knowing how, or understanding why, developed a hobby. It 
was a sort of combined attack of golf, pinochle, and toothache, 
only worse. Bill was collecting anoura. And anoura, be it 
known, is scientific slang for what the rest of the world 
knows as toadfrogs, bullfrogs, common garden variety of 
frogs, and amphibia in general. Bill collected them dis- 
passionately — alive, dead, skeleton, whole, or in part. They 
fascinated him. He read about them, talked about them, 
dreamed pleasant dreams about them, and traveled miles in 
order to hear some one else talk about them. 

One morning the President of the International, Mr. 
Brumbaugh, was surprised to hear Bill announced. Bill 
rarely ever saw the head of the company for which he sold 
over a million and a half dollars worth of insurance each 
year. He went straight to the point of the interview. 

"Mr. Brumbaugh, I want to take a vacation," he said. "It 
may be a month or it may be a year. But I promise to 
return to you just as soon as the mission on which I am 
going is finished." 



138 The Magazine 

Brumbaugh never served a term as diplomat, but he could 
have qualified at any time. He told Bill to stay as long as 
he liked and to have the time of his life. He knew how to 
handle men of Bill's class, and he earned his salary; any- 
way, he suspected a honeymoon trip was the real cause. Bill 
thanked him, and departed thinking of his sign. He was in 
high glee. Now he would have time to investigate certain 
things for himself. 

He packed that same morning. He packed man fashion — 
opening a small trunk he threw in various things, a hunting 
suit, two pairs of leggins, a razor, a full dress with high hat, 
a pair of boots, two very loud neckties, and a sundry assort- 
ment of collars, shirts, and shoes. On top he placed a small 
steel mirror, and the job was done. He intended to carry his 
specimen box, fountain-pen, and revolver with him. 

Now while Bill is sailing for Somoa, let us explain the 
object of his trip. Somebody once said that money was the 
root of all evil, but that is only partially true. Another 
entry has been found, and its name is Desire. Bill didn't 
want money, anybody with twenty cents worth of get-up-and- 
push could get that, what he wanted was something rare. He 
wanted a specimen of the exceedingly rare "Gigantis 
cornus," one of the Labyrinthodons, now almost extinct, like 
the great auk, the five^cent cigar, and derby hats. He wanted 
it badly and there was the sign to back him up. Nobody he 
had ever seen had one, yet ; he had a hunch that on the island 
of Mue, which is quite a place lying about five hundred 
miles south of Somoa, there were a few. So to Niue he was 
going. 

Arriving at Somoa, after suffering for six weeks from 
an exceedingly poor appetite, and a disease which 
resembled going down in an express elevator, falling down 
a well, and St. Vitus' dance, Bill chartered a small schooner. 
The skipper was a Malay who rejoiced in the name of 



He Believed in Signs 139 

Brandoloconti, a bandana handkerchief, a pair of tennis shoes, 
freedom of speech and drink, and a smile. His clothes were 
a negligible quantity. For the sum of one dollar and nine 
cents, no peace tax charged, he would have guaranteed to 
carry you to any place this side of the moon. He agreed to 
carry Bill to Niue, furnish food, crew, boat, good ick, and 
most of the comforts of home, for a trifle I am ashamed to 
mention. 

Preparations were completed, nobody was robbed, killed, 
or shanghaied, which is in itself quite novel. Both parties 
fulfilled the contract and in three weeks Bill had his island 
pointed out to him. To tell the truth it wasn't much to look 
at, but Bill remembered the sign, and he wanted a "Gigantis 
cornus." He had Brandoloconti put him in a boat, load it 
with a few necessities, his trunk, and made that gentleman 
promise to return for him in seven weeks. In order to be 
sure that Brandoloconti would return, he withheld part of 
the money due him. We might say that Brandoloconti had 
no wish to go ashore. He knew the island's reputation. The 
other islanders in that section called it Haunt of Ten 
Thousand Devils, and the skipper believed in signs, too. The 
name Niue being translated means Savage, and, excepting 
Bill, everybody guessed they could manage to stagger along 
under the burden of existence without visiting Niue. 

With the possible exception of a futurist painter, nobody 
could have called the island beautiful. It looked like its 
name. For the first two days Bill had the place to himself. 
At least business wasn't rushing. He had leaned the boat 
against a rock, and with his trunk had formed a shelter. 
Several billion mosquitoes suddenly developed an unquench- 
able thirst for blood, and strange turtles chose his boat for a 
trysting place or a permanent shelter. Bill was delighted 
with the prospects. Things he had never believed alive came 



140 The Magazine 

and sat beside him: peculiar snails, strange snakes, and 
lovely lizards sought him as friend and boon companion. 

The natives, who finally grew bold, troubled Bill not at all. 
He talked with them in the sign language, at which he was 
fast becoming a past master. He collected specimens, and 
collected, but no sign of the "Gigantis cornus." He had his 
specimen box full long ago, and half his clothes were scattered 
to the sands to make room for frogs. The village head chief 
or ward boss took a fancy to Bill, and sold Bill two wives 
and a goat for his high hat. The high priest Bill easily won 
by adorning him with the silk vest of his full-dress suit. But 
no one had a "Gigantis cornus." 

At the end of four weeks Bill was made assistant King, 
by presenting his Majesty, whose name was Bobo, with an 
umbrella. With this his Majesty's cup of joy overflowed. 
Literally, Bill was master of a people. Yet, of the four 
thousand specimens he had, no "Gigantis cornus" with eight 
legs lay in his hand. His honors were as dust. 

The seventh week his Majesty declared a holiday and 
ordered the island searched for a specimen of the "Gigantis 
cornus," the toad with six horns. Functions were given in 
Bill's honor, feast after feast was held. At one meeting the 
Queen appeared with Bill's razor in her ear. She wanted to 
give him another wife for it, but Bill was forced to decline. 
The high priest prophesied that Bill would be successful in 
his search, yet no "Gigantis cornus," the frog with the duck 
bill, appeared. On the day of his departure, all the people 
wept, and the king made a long speech, and gave Bill a small 
box tied with a strong grass before he departed. He made 
the now heart-broken scientist promise not to open it until 
he reached home. No accidents marred the leave taking, 
except that one of Bill's wives broke down when he was 
forced to inform her that she could not go with him. 



He Believed in Signs 



141 



Back home again, Bill unpacked his four thousand six 
hundred and forty-two anoura, now sure that he had the 
greatest collection in the world. He remembered the box 
tied with grass, and, without any Pandora-like exertions, 
opened it. There lay within, what do you think? A fine 
specimen of "Gigantis cornus," the frog with the rainbow 
colors; not at all. That genus of Labyrinthodons went out 
of business at the old stand eight hundred years ago. In that 
box was a pearl, just about the size of a walnut. 




142 The Magazine 



W. E. Horner 

An understanding father, a fond mother, a gibing sister, 
a cordial boy friend, a bubbling girl friend, a "proud but 
sneery" crowd of boys — these are some of the people I en- 
counter when I go home. 

My father is sympathetic and understanding. He realizes 
what I am going up against ; and is desirous of helping me 
all he can — even in money matters, which, alas ! has been 
the ever-recurring theme of my letters. He takes me out, 
and we have a heart-to-heart talk such as only fathers and 
sons can have. He questions me ; he advises me ; he exhorts 
me; he encourages me; and, when I leave him, I feel 
infinitely better able to face the world for having talked 
with him. 

Love and pride radiates from my mother when she sees 
me. She supplies everything which my father does not. She 
prepares delectable things to eat — and he who boards at 
Swain Hall will testify that good things to eat are as welcome 
to him as water is to a man on the desert ; she asks me about 
the grades I am getting on my studies ; she asks me whether 
I have been to church and Sunday school ; she asks me if I 
have cover enough for my bed ; in short, she asks the things 
which only a mother can understand and think of. 

To understand my sister is something of a problem. She 
makes fun of the way I part my hair; she speaks of the 
appearance of my face in no uncertain way; she casually 
mentions the fact that such and such a boy has been to see 
my best girl during my absence; but, underneath all this 
raillery, there lies the good-fellowship and understanding of 
a loving sister. 



When I Go Home 143 

"How do you like the Hill ; have you a good roommate ; 
are you passing your work all right ; how are they treating 
Freshmen this year ; do you get good hoard ?" These and a 
score of other like questions are fired at me hy my hest boy 
friend, who is really glad to see me. He, too, understands 
my problems, and after a talk with him I feel as if I had 
been making mountains out of my mole-hills. 

The spirits of my best girl friend are bubbling over when 
she sees me — but wait ! — is it the box which she espies under 
my arm which makes her (seem) so glad to see me? One 
never knows. Presuming that it is ME she is glad to see, 
I proceed to hand her the box of candy. Following the age- 
old custom, she gives me the first piece from the box ; then, 
taking one herself, she proceeds to discuss a long and varied 
list of subjects. She asks me how many girls I know in 
Chapel Hill ; demands the reason for my waiting a whole 
day before answering her last letter ; wants to know if I am 
acquainted with Chauncey Charles, a third cousin of a friend 
of one of her girl friends ; doubts my veracity when I tell 
her that I have not been to a single dance since coming to 
Chapel Hill. The question finally resolves itself in my mind 
as to whether she is "joshing" me, or whether she has a real, 
honest thought about me occasionally. 

Of all the people I have to face, the "bunch" at the drug 
store is the hardest. They are no respecters of my feelings, 
but take delight in embarrassing me. "Look at it, fellows," 
says one, "all fresh from the distant halls of learning." 
Another, "I'll bet she is parting her hair in the middle," 
and when it is discovered that I am guilty of this heinous 
sin, every one who comes in must be shown this eighth 
wonder of the world. Another expresses his creed in the 
declaration that every person who ever gets a "dope" in that 
drug store will eventually wend his way to its doors and soda 
fountain again. After the mirth and hilarity has subsided, 



144 The Magazine 

however, we talk more seriously. They tell me they are 
glad to see me; express their regret because I did not see 
the fight between "Dinky" and "Slim" last Thursday; 
apprize me in a confidential tone of what they are going to 
do next Friday night; inform me that my friend, Walter, 
has purchased a Ford and is now "hitting the high spots" ; 
and impart to me the heart-rending information that 
chocolate-milks are now fifteen cents. 

I like to go home; I enjoy seeing and talking with every- 
body ; I prize the conversations with homef oiks and friends ; 
I delight in the good-natured "chaff" of "the boys" ; and I 
feel better able to do things when I come back to school. 




The Key 145 



Cfte &eg 

G. B. Porter 

There was trouble in Elliston. The workmen of one 
factory had already gone on a strike, and others were talking 
of a general walkont. No one seemed to know exactly whence 
the trouble came. John Ellis, head of the Ellis Woolen Mills, 
had telegraphed a request to the secret service to send a man 
to investigate the trouble; Bolshevism was being talked. 
The Reds appeared to be carrying out some sort of program. 

"If I could lay my finger on the man, I'd pretty soon end 
this trouble; but it is beyond me. We have never had any 
disagreement with our men before," said Ellis to a group 
of the town's leading manufacturers. 

"Has the department sent a man yet ?" inquired one. 

"Yes; I received a letter to-day." He took a letter from 
his pocket. "We are sending a man to Elliston to-day," he 
read. 

They were gathered in Ellis' office. He was the dominant 
force among the manufacturers of the town. His offices were 
spacious ; the furnishings rich. John Ellis sat at his heavy 
desk. His secretary, Lindsay, sat at another desk. Lindsay 
had been employed some six months previous, and was an 
efficient secretary. Three other men were in the room — 
manufacturers, like Ellis. 

"This letter was mailed yesterday; the man should be 
here to-day. I guess he will come to the office," continued 
Ellis. 

"My superintendent says that not enough men are sticking 
with us to operate. We are going to shut down completely 
to-morrow," announced Bell, of the Bell Shoe Company. 



146 The Magazine 

"What do your men want ?" asked Ellis. 

"Want ? Everything — nothing — I can't tell. I have given 
them an average raise of 38 per cent during the past year. 
I have huilt Bell Cottage Row, and they are good houses. 
One foreman says that he heard talk of 'making old Bell come 
out of his shell' ; and, 'just look at that mansion old Bell 
lives in.' It looks like they have lost their reason," answered 
Bell vigorously. 

"My place is in a bad enough fix to stop work any time," 
contributed Jennings, a furniture manufacturer. "I am ex- 
pecting them to come in and demand half the factory every 
minute I am there." 

"Just as bad at my place," added Johnston, of the Johnston 
Textile Company. 

"It's a well-known fact that the people of this town are 
the best paid of any in this part of the state," declared Ellis. 
"There is some hand somewhere that's causing all this trouble. 
It's from an outside source, too, you can bank on that. I 
have always been willing to meet my people on any question 
that comes up ; but they seem to be discontented now without 
knowing why." 

"Yes, that's it," agreed Bell; "it's from an outside source." 

Some minutes later they separated to await the coming of 
the man from the secret service, who would make an investi- 
gation. They could not understand why the man had not 
come to Ellis. 

Two days passed ; no man from headquarters yet. 

On the night of the second day after the meeting of the 
manufacturers in Ellis' office, a crowd of men of Ellis', 
Jennings', Johnston's, and some of the strikers from Bell's, 
with a few of less important concerns, assembled in a build- 
ing, one time a skating-rink, to listen to a speech from their 
organizer. 

They were for the most part decent-looking men, clean 
shaven, collar and tie. 



The Key 147 

A man rose up at the end of the long hall. He mounted a 
platform. He had raven-black hair. His freshly shaven face 
looked bluish-black. His eyebrows grew stiffly in a con- 
tinuous line, which bridged his nose. The eyes were dark — 
dark in color, dark in the way they looked at one. They did 
not travel over the crowd : they shot over it. 

"Brothers," he spoke in a voice which seemed to have 
edges on it, edges on all sides. 

"Good !" commended one who liked the term. Some turned 
disapproving looks on the commender. 

"Brothers," proceeded the speaker, "we are here together 
to discuss the ways and means of getting the Brotherhood of 
Equality established in Elliston. The Brotherhood gives 
you what is by rights yours. Who has built all the factories 
here ? 'Not John Ellis, not William Bell, nor any of the men 
who are called 'big men' ; but you. You have done the work ; 
you have been robbed of your rights." 

"Right — Yes — Yes — You are right we have — We have 
that!" spoke up some; some almost shouted. 

There was one man in the crowd who did neither. He 
regarded another closely. The man he watched wore shell- 
rimmed spectacles. He had not removed his overcoat. The 
collar was upturned in a manner that almost hid his face. 
Several of the men had not removed their hats ; neither had 
this man. Presently the muffled person drew from an inside 
pocket a cigarette case. As he did so a piece of desk paper 
fell to the floor. The man pressed the release and the 
cigarette case opened. He took out one. One side of the case 
was empty of cigarettes, and finely done in green gold was a 
key, just a simple key. He struck a match ; but his disguise 
was clever — he could not be recognized. 

As if aware of being watched, he turned his goggled eyes 
upon the other. And thereafter, every time one looked toward 
the other, he found himself being watched. 



148 The Magazine 

A new speaker had been introduced. 

"The time has come when we must do something. We've 
got to show them what we can do before they will believe it. 
And we can get money. The Brotherhood has money. We 
have a man here in Elliston who is a founder of the Brother- 
hood. He has lived here, too, for some time and knows what 
Elliston is." The speaker raised his voice above the con- 
fidential tone. "And we have big men in other states ; yes, 
and in other countries. We have planned well. We know 
what conditions you men are up against and we are going to 
help you get what has always been denied you. The fruit of 
your labor is justly yours. You owe nothing to a man just 
because he is wealthy and pays you a small wage. We are 
going to vote to-night on striking at the Ellis factories. We 
are going to strike and make them come to our demands." 

After the vote had been cast and counted the results were 
read. There was a majority for the strike; but some men 
had voted against it. Soon afterward the meeting broke up. 

When the man with the shell-rimmed spectacles got up to 
go, a man stooped down and picked up a piece of desk paper 
which lay at his feet. 

Next morning a freshly-shaven man stopped on his way to 
work and bought a package of cigarettes. He filled his 
cigarette case on both sides and dropped the remaining 
cigarettes in a side pocket. Two doors away a man was get 
ting a breakfast of cereal, eggs, and coffee. He sat his cup 
down and puckered one side of his mouth thoughtfully. But 
neither knew of the other. 

The next evening, Saturday, found Bell and Jennings and 
Johnston again at Ellis' office. 

"The men are going to walk out next week if I don't give 
them deeds to the houses they are living in in Ellis Demesne ; 
if I don't give them all shares in Ellis Woolen Mills. You 
know I built those houses in the Demesne to improve their 



The Key 149 

living conditions. I don't charge them rent — no more than 
you do in Cottage Row, Bell. They have gone crazy. They 
are not satisfied with improved conditions and better pay; 
they all want to be mill owners. It will soon be as bad as a 
Mexican Army — all generals and no soldiers." Ellis spoke 
with a 'mingled tone of wrath and disgust. 

"It is as we thought," said Bell with conviction; "there 
is some outside force being brought into Elliston affairs. I 
believe, gentlemen, that we are being attacked by some 
Bolsheviki outfit. We must get at the root of it. And that 
man from the secret service has not shown up yet." 

"That's it, Bell," agreed Ellis. "There is a Eed propa- 
ganda campaign on here, and I can't see why the department 
doesn't investigate it. I think we should see the police ; it's 
up to them, too, to keep such an element from disturbing a 
peaceful and prosperous community. Don't you think it a 
good idea to see the chief at once ?" 

"Yes ; I believe we should see him and tell him just how 
things stand. And he will see to it that these Reds don't go 
the extreme in Elliston that they have in other places — 
that is, if he knows his business. Ellis, I propose that you 
talk with Townsend to-night," responded Bell. 

"I'll see him to-night," promised Ellis. He turned and 
directed his secretary, Lindsay, to telephone Chief of Police 
Townsend and arrange for an engagement. 

Accordingly, Chief Townsend received Ellis into his 
private office later in the evening. 

After salutations, Ellis answered the Chief's questioning 
regard. 

"Townsend, we are having some trouble up at the plant." 

"Trouble? Yes; I have heard something of it." 

"It looks like Bolshevism." 

"Bolshevism ?" repeated the Chief interrogatively. 

"Yes; they have never made any such demands before." 

"Demands ?" 



150 The Magazine 

"Yes ; and they say that if I don't come to them they will 
force me to close my factories." 

"What do they demand ?" 

"That I give deeds to the houses they live in in Ellis 
Demesne, and shares in the company." 

"Why do they make such demands; do you have any 
idea?" 

"I just said it was Bolshevism. I am convinced that they 
are influenced by Red propaganda." 

The Chief nodded his head. 

"I am sure of it. What short of the Red idea can it be? 
They say that my factories will stand idle if I refuse. That's 
a Red method, isn't it : Socialism and then violence ?" 

"Well, the violence part of it is. We'll see if they are 
Reds. Have all your men taken that stand ?" 

"No; some of them are having nothing to do with the 
matter. They have judgment enough to see through it." 

"Are you going to concede to any of the demands ?" 

"No, I'm not going to concede. The demands are out of 
reason — inordinate. I'm not going to concede anything to 
a Bolsheviki agitator." 

"Are you going to start the factories Monday ?" 

"Yes ; and I came to tell you to be on the lookout for their 
interference. Some of the men are going to start their 
machines Monday, and I look to you to protect them." 

"Well, I'll see that there is no violence done, Ellis. My 
men will be ready for any demonstration of force or violence 
to keep your workmen from their machines." 

Monday morning the "ten till six" whistle blew at the 
Ellis Woolen Mills, full and on time. Men, some singly, 
some in groups of twos, three, and more, were coming in 
through the main gate. Some carried dinner-pails; some, 
living in the Demesne, did not. 



The Key 151 

A large group appeared. None of them carried dinner- 
pails. They halted close to the gate. Some of them showed 
signs of but little sleep the past night. One of their number, 
whose eyebrows made a straight line across his face, said 
something to another and detached himself from the crowd. 
He entered a compressed-looking, greasy, sausage shop. A 
figure came from across the street and went into the sausage 
shop. Presently he reappeared. He walked past a police- 
man, speaking a few words as he passed. The policeman 
closed up on the sausage shop. 

The man who had spoken to the policeman stood for a 
second on the edge of the crowd of men, which had now 
grown to twice its original size. He puckered one side of his 
mouth thoughtfully while he watched one of the number 
walk over and close the big gate with a bang. 

The gate had closed just as some workmen were about to 
pass through. They turned and asked that it be opened. 

"To hell with you ; go back home where you can get in — 
nobody else is going in here to-day," menaced one of the men 
who had closed the gate. 

"What do you mean, Crowley ? Don't you know you can't 
close these gates against us ?" admonished the workman. 

"The hell we can't ; the gates seem to be closed," retorted 
the man addressed as Crowley. 

"We're going to work, and you can't keep us out," an- 
nounced the workman. And he stepped toward the gate. 
He shook the big padlock which had been snapped together. 
Several of the men were on him before he could turn. Men 
rushed upon all the workmen. They fought back fiercely. 
One workman struck his assailant with his dinner-pail. The 
man fell back with a curse. He drew a revolver and fired. 
The workman dropped his dinner-pail and sank to the pave- 
ment. The struggling men fell apart and gazed at the fallen 
man dazedly. The man threatened them with his revolver 
wildly. 



152 The Magazine 

"Get the devil out of here — get out of here, I say — go 
home!" he shouted. 

A patrol wagon was on the scene. Policemen came out 
and hurried to the gate. The man who had been standing 
on the edge of the crowd before the fight occurred, spoke to 
two policemen, climbed over the wall and entered the office 
building, which was a little apart from the main factories. 
Ellis was at the window overlooking the gate when the man 
entered. He turned upon the man sharply. His face was 
drawn and stem. 

"What do you want ? Who are you ?" he demanded. 

"I want to see your office force; my name is Forrest," 
was the answer. 

He strode over to Lindsay's desk. The latter was a trifle 
pale. A cigarette case lay open upon the desk. Forrest 
picked it up, and tore the cigarettes from one side. Finely 
done in green gold on the inside of the case was a key. The 
two policemen that he had spoken to outside came in. 

"Arrest this man," he directed. And turning to Ellis, 
"I'm with the secret service." 

He turned again to Lindsay. "Lentz, we've been looking 
for you for some time. You are wanted for stirring up 
trouble in Montana, which resulted in the death of over a 
dozen men. Your Brotherhood aims at 'destruction by any 
means whatsoever' of established authority. The trouble you 
started here has already resulted in one man's death. I have 
your man, Chekoff"." He spoke to the policemen, "You will 
find one of your men waiting for you at the sausage shop up 
the street. He has the man." 

The policemen took Lindsay out of the room. 

Forrest spoke to Ellis, who was looking on quite puzzled. 

"I thought he must work for you. I saw him drop a copy 
of your telegram to headquarters. He was at the meeting 
last week. I didn't know who he was, but recognized him 



The Key 153 

just now by a design I noticed in his cigarette case. The 
man can disguise. He was completely hidden the other 
night behind his goggles, overcoat collar, and low hat." 

He went over to the secretary's desk and picked up some 
copying. 

"I knew the minute I saw this handwriting that he was 
Lentz, the man who wrote the constitution of the Brother- 
hood of Equality. You see, he wrote that constitution in 
longhand; I have seen the original. The copy of your 
telegram was a carbon copy, and I did not know that your 
secretary was Lentz ; I only knew that he was disguised at 
a labor-agitation meeting, enough to make me interested. 
We came pretty near getting him in Montana ; he was known 
to be there by every one." 

"I believe we can stop this strike, if that's the case," said 
Ellis. "My men have always been reasonable before this 
affair occurred." 

The six-o'clock whistle signalled the workmen who were 
at their machines that a new week had started. Ellis went 
out to talk to his men. 



154 The Magazine 



Poet or jeofceltet 

S. KlTA 

We have a little homely proverb : "The true heart will be 
protected by a god, even though it offers no prayer at all." 
Another motto which we accept is : "Duty is weightier than 
a mountain, death is lighter than a feather." When circum- 
stances call for heroic acts, when the thought of life and death 
approaches the Japanese, he does not hesitate. His duty as 
a warrior and as a man are clearly outlined for him. 

We always think about old Japanese knights and cherish 
their memory as poetical figures of the true. These old 
Japanese knights acted more from the dictates of complex 
systems of philosophy than from simple duty. They were 
real poets in death as well as in life. !No one able to feel 
beauty could refuse to confess the charm of the old Japanese 
knights' death. 

There is more beautiful, spiritual loyalty and filial piety 
expressed in the life of a Japanese Samurai than was dis- 
played by all the European armies of the crusades. 

The most conspicuous thing in the history of Japan is ex- 
pressed in the motto: "Don't talk, but act." If this, then, 
was the motto of our men of arms, surely we are permitted 
to urge the same ideal upon our women. We should like 
to apply "Don't talk, but act" to "obedience," especially 
women's obedience. 

"Obedience on the part of a girl, while yet unmarried, to 
a father or a mother ; obedience, when married, to a husband ; 
obedience, when widowed, to a son" — this is the perpetual 
precept of the philosophy taught Japanese women in our 
country. It is curious to note that an exact counterpart of 



Poet or Novelist 155 

this doctrine of obedience is to be found in Hindu philosophy, 
Buddhism. "Day and night women must be kept in depend- 
ence by the males of their family" — this is the doctrine of 
Hindu philosophy. We have been much interested in that 
doctrine since we have been in America. 

The three phases of obedience of the Japanese are based 
on the ethics of Confucianism and Buddhism. The Chinese 
philosophy of women's obedience is expressed by the follow- 
ing: "In childhood, a female must be subject to her father; 
in youth, to her husband ; when her lord is dead, to her sons." 

In Japan, Buddhism and the old feudalism contributed to 
the keeping of women in a state of non-suffrage as a result of 
the teaching of Buddhism. Women are regarded as unclean, 
a temptation, or snare to virtue, and an obstacle to peace and 
holiness. Feudalism also regards her in the light of a 
temptation to courage, to faithful performance of manly 
duty. But sometimes romantic love was treated with kind- 
ness and sympathy far above that indicated in other Asiatic 
countries, such as India and China. 

Your American comrade, Lafcadio Hearn, said about 
Japanese feudalism: "I despised its general similarity to 
the feudalism of the West, but rejoice that the Japanese 
knight did not perform his valiant deeds for such fanciful 
reward as a lady's smile, but performed them out of loyalty 
to his lord, or filial piety towards the memory of his father. 
Don't talk, but act." 

These three influences — Confucianism, Buddhism, and 
Feudalism — combined to place the Japanese women in a 
state of quiet. Our Japanese women's lives are dreams and 
silence. Japanese women, at least the old Japanese ladies, 
are different from the Western in the same way as silence 
is different from a voice, night from day. 

Yone Noguchi, our Japanese poet, said that one who lives 
in Chicago or New York can hardly know the real beauty 



156 The Magazine 

of night and silence ; it is my opinion that the Western char- 
acter, particularly of Americans, would be sweetened, or at 
least toned down, if the real beauty of the night and silence 
might be emphasized. The usual Japanese poetry consists 
of thirty-one syllables. European poetry knows no limit. 
The difference that exists between the two poetries also exists 
between Japanese women and European women; the one is 
short-spoken and quiet, the other verbose and unhampered by 
restrictions. 

Moon, stars, and flowers — silent objects all — form the 
principal subject matter of the Japanese poetry. Birds and 
waterfalls — in that they run on unceasingly — we leave to 
Western poetry. 

The Japanese poetry, as well as Japanese ladies, is that of 
the moon, stars, and flowers; that of a bird and waterfall 
for the noisiest. 

It has been said that there is this difference between the 
poet and the novelist; the first is truthful and accurate be- 
cause he is working in the divine, the novelist often deceives 
himself as well as his own soul because of the coarser material 
with which he must work. The Japanese woman is the poet 
of all womankind. Do you know the novelist ? 



The Confederate Statue Speaks 157 



Cfte Confeoerate Statue ©peaks; 

Henry D. Stevens 

Gooch's had closed. The last Freshman had been dumped. 
The noise and clamor had died away. The old South Build- 
ing Bell had been tucked away for the night. Only occa- 
sionally did a Med. Building cur break the stillness. 

But the quiet was oppressive. At least, Landmark, the 
old Confederate Statue, thought so. Landmark has bluffed 
peoples of all kinds — murderers and robbers and lovers — for 
many years. His control of the entire campus (except the 
arboretum) has been completely effective, in spite of his 
lack of an ammunition box. He always looks so heroic and 
strong that people dare not cut up in front of old Landmark. 

But last night the quiet oppressed him. As he gave a 
little yawn, something creaked. His joints were rusty. You 
know it's pretty hard for a hero to stand still for a half 
century. 

Suddenly and slyly, a sly full moon winked from behind 
scurrying billows of moon-lit white. Romance, the man way 
up in the moon, was riding past on his nightly vigil. Every 
night, in this part of the world, it was the same old thing. 
Romance usually napped while passing over Orange County. 
But he had insomnia last night. 

"Well, there's Piney Prospect — same as ever ; that pile of 
stone's not grown a bit. And there's the South's leading 
University. Just about the same." Romance was fond of 
talking to himself. 

"Why, what's the matter with Landmark? He seems to 
be livelier than usual to-night. What's happened to the old 
boy?" 



158 The Magazine 

The scurrying billows of moon-lit white didn't answer. 

"Hey, there, old soldier, how about a chew ?" 

Slowly and creakingly, old Landmark creaked. Although 
slightly hoarse, he succeeded in calling out, "Sure, come 
get it !" 

Romance came and got his dry and rather stale chew. 
"Landmark/' he began, "you know, chewing tobacco's about 
as scarce as liquor around these parts." 

"You're right. The boys have cut it out altogether. They 
act like they're scared of good old harmless tobacco. Why, 
they won't even use their little ready-made cigarettes without 
sucking the smoke in through a fancy thing-a-majig. It sure 
gets my goat when I see how sissy the students here are 
gettin'. And talkin' about whisky — why, I feel real sorry 
for these Sophomores who swagger past, f reezin' to death, too 
proud to wear a hat, and too blamed modern to be able to 
warm up with a couple of good drinks. But talkin' about 
f reezin', have you noticed these gals runnin' around ? Looks 
to me like they ought to wear more clothes. I can't see why 
they wear so little unless it's to save money, so they can buy 
those darn milk drinks. Why, it used to be that if a fellow 
spent fifteen cents for a drink he'd be apt to forget all about 
his next class. And what are these gals doin' here anyway ?" 

Romance hadn't heard of the co-eds. "What do you mean 
'gals' ?" 

"Why, they've got a bunch of women-folks goin' to school 
here now, right along with the boys. They sit in the same 
rooms with 'em and study the same stuff. Old Mr. Moon- 
Man, I tell you it's all wrong. And talkin' about gals — have 
you seen that bunch a-lookin' like Indians that come up here 
twice every year? They look like they'd put chalk and red 
paint all over their faces ! And all kinds of funny-lookin' 
clothes on. They go down to the gym with the boys and they 
have the awfullest fights you ever saw. The gals get all torn 



The Confederate Statue Speaks 159 

around and shook almost to pieces. But they're usually out- 
numbered and get driven away after about two nights. 
They're pretty game, though, and do put up some fight. And 
what gets me is that about the same bunch comes back every 
year. Things have sure changed." 

"What do you think of these new-fashioned buggies that 
keep running back and forth to Durham, loaded down with 
boys ?" Romance was interested. 

"Well, I reckon Durham must have changed a lot, 'cause 
they didn't used to seem so anxious to go over there. The 
University's in a pretty bad fix, I'm afraid. They don't haze 
any more. A Freshman is just as big as anybody, and all of 
'em think they're so big that they don't study any. And the 
place is so big now that a man can't know even his own class- 
mates. They're all a bunch of spoiled mollycodles !" 

"Mollycodles ! What ails you, old soldier ? I reckon they 
have sort of changed. But I'll be satisfied as long as they 
keep up what they did Thanksgiving." 

"Why they didn't do anything Thanksgiving but buy hot 
dogs and run around like they were wild, did they ? . . . 
What? . . . Say that again! . . . They played 
Virginia — and WON ? Beat 'em six to zero ?" 

This morning my roommate had a strange tale. For some 
reason he awoke before the clock went off. One tremendous 
shout from the direction of the Confederate Statue caused 
him to run to the window. The world was still. The old 
bronze soldier stood firm on his rock. And the light of a 
full, smiling moon showed to my roommate the soldier's 
profile. My roommate says that his profile was strange and 
has a strange tale to tell : THE OLD SOLDIER SMILED ! 

I wonder why he smiled! Do you suppose this is the 
answer ? The old boy was rather gratified to find that, in 
spite of co-eds and the H. C. L. and too many students, the 
spirit lives ! We are keeping the tradition! 



160 The Magazine 



Cfte J£)onor Spstem 

John Kerr 

Such a subject as the Honor System, as expressed by the 
principle regarding one's conduct as a student in the Uni- 
versity, is no new thing to one who reads Carolina publica- 
tions and conies in contact with a Carolina man. But not- 
withstanding the many times that the Honor System, as a 
subject, has been dwelt upon through the various channels 
of expression open to University students, the principle upon 
which the Honor System is based never grows old but is con- 
tinually renewed with the arrival of each year's Freshman 
Class. These men coming fresh from the preparatory schools 
and high schools, where any form of an honor system was 
not, haven't had the proper, if any conception whatever, of 
the Honor System in operation at the University. This 
Honor System here is simple. It is simply being a gentle- 
man and acting as such on all occasions. But where the mis- 
understanding comes is in the idea that under the regime of 
the Honor System the Student Council is a body appointed 
to make a man a gentleman. The idea of force tends to 
undermine the principle upon which the system rests — the 
principle of the individualistic assertion of the function of a 
gentleman. It is not an elaborate thing built upon rules and 
regulations. It has no written constitution, but it has an 
unwritten constitution which is nothing more than what 
public opinion on this campus holds in regard to what is the 
proper conduct of a gentleman. Primarily and funda- 
mentally the Honor System which holds sway on this campus 
rests upon the conception that a man is a gentleman until 
he is found to be otherwise, and when he is found to be 



The Honor System 161 

otherwise he unconsciously severs his relationship with every- 
thing fine, honorable, noble, and manly that the University 
represents. This is our Honor System. There is nothing 
vague or elaborate about it, nor does it rest upon a plane 
beyond the making or unmaking of the students. It is a 
student proposition. 

Every man on this campus is a part of the Honor System, 
and theoretically a member of the Student Council ; but the 
impracticability of having over fourteen hundred students 
on a Student Council is parallel to the impracticability of 
having a hundred million people, or in other words every 
citizen of the United States, to constitute Congress. The 
parallel is similar in every respect. The Student Council 
is the visible representative of all the students, and on ac- 
count of this fact the visible exponent and head of the Honor 
System. The eight men that compose the Council are the 
representatives and agents of the students whenever the 
occasion arises which makes imperative the actual enforce- 
ment of the principles that the student body, through the 
Honor System, believe in. In carrying out this enforce- 
ment the Council has been granted certain powers by the 
faculty and student body. This is the Student Council. 

Each Council in the course of its term of office carries out 
definite policies in regard to the regulations exercised under 
the prerogatives of the Honor System. These policies vary 
with each Council. The Student Council of this year has 
tried to look at the Honor System and its meaning with 
as broad and as liberal a view as possible. The Council 
believes that it is primarily its duty to prevent mistakes being 
made by the students, by showing them just wherein the 
wisdom of a course lies, and wherein the wisdom of a course 
does not lie. To be concrete, it is the policy of first pointing 
out the right road, as it sees that road, and then helping the 
student with all means possible to set out on and keep that 



162 The Magazine 

road. It is educative first and punitive only when education 
as to what is considered right and wrong had been given and 
failed to be recognized and appreciated. Of course when 
a man who knows right from wrong violates the Honor 
System, the Council puts on its punitive garments. Edu- 
cate first as a means of prevention, and when education fails 
the pendulum swings to the side of punishment as a means 
of prevention. 

This is plainly what the Honor System is and means. It 
is a great and invisible force striving for the realization of 
the principle that any man who enters Carolina will always 
be a gentleman, exemplifying the conduct of a true man on 
any and every occasion that may arise. It is a thing that 
can not attain its full growth in one day, the four years of 
a class's life, nor any particular time, but grows on and on 
through the life of the University, and is renewed with each 
generation. 



Phases of the Student Conference 163 



Pl)a0e0 of tiie ©tuOent Conference in 
De0 £©onte0 

There are many, many things to be gained from such a 
Conference as the one held in Des Moines recently. Some 
things sink deeper in some minds than others. Where all is 
good there are certain things that seem better to some people. 

Many phases of the Conference will stick with me for 
many long years. Certain points about one man's lecture, 
the special enthusiasm of one foreign student, certain inci- 
dents of the trip, etc., but I think two things that stand out 
above the others to me are that America is to play the im- 
portant part in the evangelization of the world, and that, 
since students are the leaders of America and the world to- 
day, students must lead in Foreign Missions. What can we 
make of these statements ? Are we as students going to face 
the issues and rise to the challenge ? 

In the war which recently ended, it is generally admitted 
that America was a big factor in deciding the outcome of 
the war. How did the colleges stand in the war for 
Democracy ? Look up the records of the University and you 
will see that this institution stood, with others of the TJ. S., 
like a brick wall behind the policies of America. The college 
students met the challenge. 

But, as was said at the Conference, the war is not over. 
That was a small struggle which ended on November 11, 
1918, compared to the struggle that is ahead of us now. 
With all the social and industrial unrest at home, how can 
America meet her part in this great effort to plant Christian 
civilization in every land ? She must meet this challenge 
just as she met the call to arms in 1917. But how is it going 
to be met ? By the students of North America. We are the 



164 The Magazine 

ones who can end internal troubles and then go into a bigger 
and broader field. When we consider that the students have 
made up more than 70 per cent of foreign missionaries in the 
last generation, and that the number has been greater in the 
last eleven years than in the previous twenty-two years, we 
are bound to conclude that the students of America have 
been doing something. But now is the time to redouble our 
efforts. Now, when the whole of Europe is open and wishing 
and longing for Americans to come, it is time for us to 
answer the challenge and meet an impossible task, "The 
Evangelization of the World in this Generation," the motto 
of the Student Volunteer Conference. We are Americans 
and we are students. Do we realize the tremendous needs 
and the wonderful opportunities that are before us ? It is 
worthy of our consideration. Is our life to be a life of 
selfishness or of service to humanity wherever that service is 
most needed ? 

C. W. Phillips. 



The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 

The Magazine, University of North Carolina, is published by the 
Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. Its object is to gather 
together what is best in the literary life of the students and give ex- 
pression to it. 

EDITORIAL STAFF 

J. P. Washburn, Phi Editor-in-Chief 

T. C. Wolfe, Di Assistant Editor-in-Chief 

ASSISTANT EDITORS 

W. R. Berryhill, Di. P. Hettleman, Phi. 

W. Le G. Blythe, Di. J. H. Kerr, Jr., Phi. " 

W, B. Womble, Phi. 

MANAGERS 

G. D. Crawford, Di Business Manager 

W. A. gTrdner^PM. } Assistant Managers 

TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION, $1.00 A YEAR 



<# 


editorials 


* : 



AN EXPLANATION 

In this issue of The Magazine will be found an editorial, 
the title of which is, "An Apology for Proposition Two." 

This editorial is gladly published, but we wish to inform 
the writer that he has placed too much importance on the 
seriousness with which the rest of the student body took the 
voting of those sixteen men. Surely they are entitled to their 
opinion, no one would dare deny the right of the sixteen to 
express exactly what they thought, no matter what the 



166 The Magazine 

majority may think. We are still glad to have the sixteen as 
students here, for we live in a democratic community, where 
all are entitled to express their views freely. We admire 
them for their strength to vote their convictions against over- 
whelming odds. 



WHY 

In this issue of The Magazine will be found a very in- 
teresting address delivered by Dr. L. R. Wilson, on the late 
"Edward Kidder Graham : Teacher and Interpreter of 
Modern Citizenship." In it will be found the ideals that 
our late President Graham set in motion on this campus; 
ideals that we should never let die; ideas and ideals that we 
should never let perish from the life of the institution that 
he gave a greater life to. It is an article that every new man 
who has never known, who never had the opportunity to 
know this great leader, should read; because it exemplifies 
the basic principles that the Honor System of the University 
is based upon. In it will be found passages that will thrill 
the very soul of all those who knew him well. The editor 
feels that notwithstanding the change in the nature of the 
material of The Magazine, that such an article as the above 
mentioned will ever have a place in The Magazine, no 
matter what may or may not be its policy. 



THE CHANGE 

The Magazine, in accordance with the posters that have 
been placed about on the campus, is attempting to change, 
to a large degree, the nature of the material that goes to 
make it up. It is felt by the board that this change is neces- 
sary if The Magazine is to maintain its place with the other 
publications on the Hill. This is the first time in the history 






Editorials 167 

of The Magazine that such a policy has been adopted. The 
editorial staff feels that the change is necessary to the life of 
the publication, and that the change will be instrumental in 
creating opinions on worth-while subjects of which we have 
only a vague idea at present. We do not attempt to say that 
it will be as great a publication as The Nation, The Literary 
Digest, or other publications of a similar nature, but we are 
in hopes that The Magazine will by this change become a 
vital organ in the life of the greater University. It is with 
this idea in view that the change is made. We offer it to 
you for what it is worth, and will appreciate any constructive 
criticism that you have to offer. 



THE NEW YEAR 

We have just spent one grand and glorious fall together. 
We have learned to know, appreciate, and sympathize with 
each other in our imperfections. We are beginning to think 
of a real Ideal University; because we feel that we have 
the greatest campus, the greatest spirit of any college in 
America. We attribute its greatness to no one man, to no 
one organization, but to the common ideal that lives and 
expresses itself in the actions of a great student body in its 
entirety. We are beginning to grow above the petty interest 
of self ; we have begun to see that there is something greater 
than one organization, or the ambition of a particular group. 
We are seeing the one thing that means the grandest college 
in all the world, putting the spirit — the things that our col- 
lege stands for — above all. In this we have a common in- 
terest, free from conflicting elements ; and we can all strive 
for a common good. And in striving for this ideal we 
become bigger and better men ourselves, as a result. Our 
reward comes as a mere incident, and is greater as a result 
of our honest striving. 



168 The Magazine 

Bolshevism, that unexplainable something that has per- 
vaded so many college walls, has no place in our life, except 
as a thing to be discussed, as an evil that we as sound- 
thinking college men should strive to show the right. We 
do not fear it, because we believe that we stand for the best 
already. But if we do not stand for the best, if Bolshevism 
is better, we as liberal-minded individuals are willing to 
give it a chance; if it isn't, we are ready to fight it to the 
finish. 

The New Year is here, and with it has come the oppor- 
tunity to stand for nobler things, and the time to fight for 
the things that are right. From without the unknown there 
comes a challenge that offers every man an opportunity to 
render greater service. Prepare, that you may render that 
service more effectively. 



CLASS SPIRIT 

The four academic classes at Carolina now are not very 
different from the many others of former years. The per- 
sonnel of each class follows the same general run of boys. 
They attend classes when the old South bell rings, with the 
same presentiments of some dread quiz or examination in 
the hazy future. They hail "grats" just as joyfully; spend 
about as much time every day at the post-office and drug 
stores; fill the seats at the "Pick" just as often; and go 
through the hundred and one duties that go to make up the 
daily routine of the Carolina student. 

But the student of 1920 knows fewer by far of his fellow- 
students, and even of his classmates, than did the man of the 
80's and 90's. He speaks to the fellow he meets, yes. But 
half the time he doesn't know the other fellow's name or his 
class, and so the bond of common fellowship is lost. As the 
University grows, this problem becomes a greater and more 
difficult one to solve. 



Editorials 169 

It is almost impossible for every man to know every other 
man among 1,400, but he can and should know every man 
in his own class. This is of great importance, not only as a 
foundation for the work of the class itself, but for the indi- 
vidual. It is generally true that one's lifelong friends are 
some of his intimate classmates. As men fight together on 
the class athletic field, study together for exams, and attend 
class smokers, there grows up a feeling of friendship and 
intimacy which the years can not break. 

Every class faces this problem of unity. There have 
always been elements in classes at Carolina, and while men 
of this day ought to be big enough and broad-minded enough 
to see beyond mere factional lines, it is sometimes a very 
hard thing to do. 

To have vital relations between different parties, there 
must be a common interest between them. Here is the 
class's opportunity to unify itself, and by so doing preserve 
the unity of the University. If every class has a definite 
aim, some goal in view, or an ideal to strive for, and the 
ideal is big and fine enough to interest the individual men 
of the class, they will forget the petty differences, and, work- 
ing for a common end, will live in a spirit of good fellowship 
as man with man. 

Only with unity can a class have the real spirit, and when 
the individual men have put their class first, and have 
developed a real class spirit, then you have the common link 
for binding the University and the student together. 

One class on the campus has adopted for its motto this 
year: "Class unity and good fellowship." It has already 
begun in earnest and with fine spirit to accomplish this end. 
Working together with this in view is developing intimacy 
and forming friendships between men who formerly were 
only passing acquaintances. And what is being done your 
class can do. 

W. E. Bereyhili,. 



170 The Magazine 



WHAT DOES IT HOLD? 



The New Year is before us. 1919 has disappeared over 
the ridge of Time, carrying on his back a bundle containing 
the joys and regrets of a struggling and soul-sick Mankind. 
1920 has come, and brought the hopes and fears of a people 
who are still trying vainly to work out their salvation. 

Will the year of 1920 be marked by a continuation of the 
world unrest ? Or will this year witness the birth of a new 
and grander Brotherhood of Man ? Will the Laborer and the 
Capitalist get together and give their fellow-man a chance? 

~No one dares to predict the scenes which will be enacted 
on the stage of World Events this year. Yet, one fact is 
certain : The college man is expected to do all in his power 
to aid in answering these questions. If we are to be worthy 
of our opportunities, we must be ready to assume the obliga- 
tions which our station gives. Over and against every 
privilege there is a duty. 

What will we do with 1920 and its opportunities of service 
to the World ? 

C. T. Leonard. 



AN APOLOGY FOB, PROPOSITION TWO 

Sixteen men of this University voted for absolute rejection 
of the League Covenant and the Treaty of Peace. In so 
doing, they incurred the censure and aroused the suspicion 
of more than a thousand other men of the campus who voted 
contrarily ; they were looked upon as curiosities, Bolsheviki, 
fanatics. Their action was widely and emphatically con- 
demned. They were black, black sheep — unsightly blotches 
upon the fair escutcheon of Carolina. 

A learned and theoretically liberal-minded professor told 
his classes that "sixteen men wanted to keep on fighting 
Germany." 



Editorials 171 

Truth is a strange sort of thing. It is capable of being 
so distorted as to become unrecognizable. But how can a 
sane person make such a blind and misleading statement as 
that ? One glance beneath the surface should disclose the 
blind folly of such a stand. Those sixteen men voted for 
what they considered right, and more than this no man can 
do. Freedom of opinion is a fundamental right of man. 
The popular majority opinion is not necessarily the right 
one, for there are, in the last analysis, two sides to every 
question. If over a thousand men of one opinion can not 
listen with respect and open-mindedness to the opinion of a 
dozen men of contrary belief, then there is among them a 
narrowness of mind which augurs ill for such opinion as 
they themselves may hold. 

These sixteen "Bolsheviki" are more or less human, en- 
lightened, God-fearing men. They presumably possess some 
mental powers, else they would not be allowed to take up 
space in the University lecture rooms. Since these men 
possess the power of thought, and the right to think for 
themselves, it is surely no more than just that they should 
be accorded the same liberal treatment as are those of op- 
posing view. The great difference in numbers is after all a 
small thing. In the world's history, minorities have always 
been as right as majorities. In fact, if we may be pardoned 
the seeming egotism, they have been more so. 

There is not room here for the so-called "Bolshevistic" 
argument. This paper intends to be merely a defense, and 
not an exposition, of the stand taken by those who voted for 
proposition two. The general contention is, that owing to the 
present state of the world's mind, the political selfishness of 
its leaders, the bitter nationalism and racial prejudice, and, 
above all, the inherent weakness and wrong spirit of the 
proposed league itself, it can not succeed, but will in fact be 
a reactionary movement. 



172 The Magazine 

As to the treaty, it is known to be unjust, hurtful to all 
parties, in the long run, and impossible of fulfillment; its 
ratification is being urged because we want to get back to a 
peace basis. " Shall we, then, remain at war with Germany 
until we can devise a perfect treaty?" says another conven- 
tional thinker of the University. 

The actual fact is that we are at peace with Germany. In 
not ratifying the treaty, we have so far refused to "bleed 
Germany white." Nor will a "perfect" treaty be made, for 
nothing perfect comes out of so mean a thing as war. As to 
the desire to sign a definite and final treaty of peace, is it 
necessary or expedient to dash down the first road one comes 
to, regardless of where it leads, simply because one wishes 
to be on the way ? E"o ! If we must journey let us first find 
the right road, and pursue it to the end. 

~No argument is intended here. Only a fair deal is due 
to, and desired by, our sixteen "radicals." They, too, have 
the interests of mankind at heart. Their method may be 
different. It is not necessarily wrong. 

D. R. Hodgin, 

One of the Sixteen. 



OUR IRE IS AROUSED 

The recent deportation proceedings against Reds, Bolshe- 
vists, anarchists, and government haters in general has been 
a satisfying achievement to American minds. For years we 
have been disturbed by an element openly antagonistic. For 
numbers of years we have opened the country to foreigners, 
only punishing their disturbing acts by arrest and prison. 
We called our country free; consequently, we let anarchists 
dwell among us without the least thought of deporting them. 
Accordingly, as America grew industrially greater, plotters, 
bombers, and radicals came to our shores, settled in our in- 



Editorials 173 

dustrial centers under the pretense of being laborers, but 
who really were instrumental in the many past and recent 
disturbances. 

We maintain that this is a free country, but if we are to 
have a Democracy ruled over by a Democratic Government, 
we must see to it that we do not allow anarchists and plotters 
to inhabit our domains. Anarchists are enemies of all gov- 
ernments, therefore citizens of none. They should not, then, 
be allowed the protection of our government. To show their 
sentiment toward the government which has undertaken to 
protect them, I refer to the headline of an article written by 
Berkman, lately deported, one of the most notorious of the 
Reds, which reads, "To Hell With the Government." Do we 
want men of this type, who wish to overthrow the principles 
for which our forefathers, fathers, and we ourselves have 
fought, to dwell with us ? The time has come when the 
public must be heard and obeyed. It will no longer stand to 
see every day plotters and anarchists walking our peaceful 
streets and working in the great factories with the people who 
have made us what we are. Our country is free to those who 
wish to come here to make homes and live peaceably under 
its protection, but it is not free to those who wish to see its 
downfall industrially and politically. 

Our Department of Justice deserves great credit and 
praise for the stand that it has taken in the matter of deport- 
ing these enemies of our peace and happiness. When all 
such persons are out of our borders we will see a new 
America, traveling at a fast speed to that industrial and 
commercial goal that lies in the great future that awaits us. 

P. A. Reavis, Jr. 



174 The Magazine 



©Halting 

Ewaet W. G. Huffman 



Waiting — for the breath of summer 

To perfume the wintry airs. 
For her arms to warmly press me, 

And to drive away my cares ; 
For green woods within the valleys, 

And the murmuring of the streams, 
I am waiting, calm, yet weary, 
For my Summer Land of Dreams : 

Waiting — for the wild rose's blooming, 

For the violets on the hill, 
For the whole brown earth resuming 
Her beauty and her thrill. 

II 

Waiting — for the kiss of summer 

To enrapture all mankind, 
With a joy that makes one happy ; 
Stills the body, rests the mind. 
Irresistible in flavor, 

Most delightful e'en in touch ; 
Here's a toast to green old summer, 
Drink — you can not sip too much : 

For it's sunshine without shadows, 

And it's joy without its cares ; 
Sure, I'm tired of cold bleak winter, 
And I'm waiting in my prayers. 



Waiting 175 

III 

Waiting — for the song of summer, 

For the robin's liquid trill, 
For the woodthrush and the bluebird 

To sing and wake the hill. 
Yes, I'm sure earth's tired of sleeping 

In her old donned robes of gold ; 
And I'm sure I'm tired of weeping — 
Tired of dreaming in the cold : 

Come, let's have our share of summer, 

All her kisses and her song ; 
For it's other lands that winter 
In her ghastly garb belong. 

IV 

Waiting — for the bliss of summer, 

For its blessings and its joys ; 
Waiting — for the great green meadows, 

And the happiness of boys. 
Waiting — for a taste of heaven, 

Meted out in mortal shares ; 
Waiting — for the glad to-morrows, 
For a dreamer's world, sans cares : 
Waiting, waiting, waiting, 

And a-dreamin' of the bliss 
That's in her song and fragrance, 
But mostly in her kiss ! 



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MAGAZINE 

University of North Carolina 




SPRING NUMBER 



April, 1920 



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The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 
Old Series Vol. 50 Number 4 New Series Vol. 37 



Content* 

PAGE 

What's an Honor. Donnell van Noppen 179 

Bolshevism in the Colleges. Tyre C. Taylor 183 

The Call of South America. Mary E. Vemer 185 

Black Commie. /. 8. Moore 188 

Woman Suffrage. P. A. Reavis, Jr 195 

The Journey Home. William D. Harris 198 

Mexico — The Sick Man. Ralph D. Williams 208 

First Explorations in African Orange County. 

C. W. Phillips 212 

The Faithful Singer and His Song. A. N. Johnson 215 

A Bag of Swag. Le Gette Blythe 221 

Editorials 225 

Extracts from a Diary. H. G. West 230 

Kealities or Dreams. Walter E. Wiles 233 

Why Not a Platform for Class Presidents. 

Anonymous 236 



The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 
Old Series Vol. 50 Number 4 New Series Vol. 37 



COftat'0 an potior? 

Donnell Van Noppen 

What is an honor ? What is meant by the statement, "He 
is honored with that position," or "He has received that 
honor" ? More specifically, what is a college honor ? This 
is essentially the same question but there is here only 
room for discussion of college honor. In this sense an honor 
is the recognition by students of a man's abilities, integrity, 
and merit. 

Knowing what an honor is the question may be asked: 
"When has a man the right to seek an honor ?" A college has 
places enough of trust and of influence to give every man an 
opportunity to display his talents. A man, before he has been 
in college very long, finds out just what he is going out for in 
the way of honors. He knows whether it is on the athletic 
field, in the classroom, with the college publications or in 
other activities. After he finds himself he goes out and dis- 
plays his abilities and soon others see what stuff he is made 
of and soon he is thought of as a part of that particular col- 
lege activity in which he is interested. He is judged accord- 
ing to his abilities. 

The positions of trust are given to those who are willing 
to pay the cost, to make the necessary sacrifices and on whom 
one can depend. If a man has these qualifications he has a 



180 The Magazine 

right to college honors but has he a right to seek the honor ? 
A man should never seek an honor but should seek to be 
worthy of an honor; and if he is worthy of the honor then 
the honor will seek him. A self-seeker wants the position as 
an honor for himself and not as an opportunity to serve his 
fellow students. 

Then to the man who makes good in any line of activity 
there will inevitably come positions of trust. To the man 
who acquits himself well in the positions he has, there come 
increasingly greater opportunities for service. Honors and 
positions do not fall out of the open sky but come gradually. 

If after his first few trials a man shows himself unfit, no 
more responsibilities are given him. There are those who, 
either through indifference or lack of confidence, are unwill- 
ing to take on a position of trust. Such men forfeit all hope 
of further opportunity. There seem to be more of the latter 
than of the former; for men who are reliable and willing to 
take on work are few. Therefore the few who are willing to 
accept these positions are overburdened ; and as a consequence 
of their interests being so divided they fail to perform their 
numerous varied positions well. This is a fault on every col- 
lege campus as it is in nearly every community. In every 
case there are those who have their finger in all the pies at the 
same time. It is unfair to the men themselves and no less 
unfair to others who suffer on account of the divided leaders' 
interest. Therefore it throws a responsibility on the man as 
well as those who elect him to be careful and not to overload 
one man. 

The question may now be asked, "Do college honors help 
a man outside of college V Will he be a bigger success than 
the man who did not get the honors ? As a rule this may be 
answered in the affirmative but it is not always true. How- 
ever, the exceptions are so few and far between that it is not 



The Magazine 181 

necessary to bother with them. Of course, this cannot be 
determined by those who are now in college and, therefore, a 
look must be taken at those of past years. 

Nearly all of the Intercollegiate debaters have made suc- 
cessful at law. Out of the six intercollegiate debaters in the 
class of 1909, four are lawyers, one is principal of a high 
school, and the other is a very successful insurance man. The 
last mentioned, Mr. J. W. Umstead, of Greensboro, when in 
college held the agency for a number of business concerns. 
So he has combined his ability as a speaker and his ability in 
business into one profession. Of the six intercollegiate de- 
baters of the class of 1912, all six are practicing law. 

Many of the Tar Heel Editors-in-Chief are now newspaper 
correspondents. In the class of 1906 Mr. V. L. Stephenson 
was Editor-in-Chief of the Tar Heel. When he left college 
he was on the staff of the Charlotte Observer. Since that time 
he has been connected with two of the largest New York 
papers and is now correspondent for the New York Evening 
Post. Mr. Louis Gray, another editor-in-chief, a member of 
the class of 1902, was sent to France as a correspondent of 
another New York paper. He has also written articles for 
the Atlantic Monthly and the Saturday Evening Post. 

The majority of men who held positions as business man- 
agers of the different organizations are now successful busi- 
ness men. For instance, Mr. James A. Gray, of the class of 
1909, was business manager of many activities while in col- 
lege. He was one of the principal factors in the tremendous 
growth and upbuilding of the Wachovia Trust Company of 
Winston-Salem and is now Vice-President of the K. J. Eey- 
nolds Tobacco Company. Mr. Frank Drew and Mr. F. L. 
Eules both are successful business men after careers in col- 
lege as managers of Football and of the Tar Heel, respec- 
tively. 



182 The Magazine 

Of the Phi Beta Kappa Presidents of four classes, two are 
professors in colleges, one is in law and the other is in busi- 
ness. 

Of the Senior Class Presidents of the same four years, two 
are practicing law, one is a professor, and the other is in 
business. 

These men achieved in college and they have achieved out- 
side of college. They did not seek honors for the honors them- 
selves but for the sake of greater service to the students and 
they lived up to the honors. Instead of seeking the honors, 
the honors sought them because they were worthy of the 
honors. 

After finishing college a man should be able to say as Paul 
said just before his death : "I have fought the good fight, I 
have finished the course, I have kept the faith." 



The Magazine 183 



iSola&etnsm in tije Colleges 

Tyre C. Taylor 

There is a professed alarm in some circles at the appar- 
ently growing spirit of Bolshevism and Radicalism among 
Southern college students. As there is no data available to 
show just what per cent of these men are friendly to such 
doctrines, any discussion of the question must be rather gen- 
eral in its nature, and take for granted that there does exist 
such a spirit, and among numbers sufficient to justify more 
than curious interest. But be that as it may, the problem has 
some aspects which ought to claim the attention of thinking 
men whose interest lies along the paths of democratic freedom 
of thought and government, and who really care to propagate 
and safeguard the institutions that have come down to us 
from the past. 

If we have ever stood in need of sane, clear thinking along 
lines of national policy, it would seem that that time is now. 
The Peace Treaty defeated — President and Congress pulling 
against each other while the country waits and suffers — the 
very name of our nation grown into contempt abroad — a 
horde of bankrupt governments clamoring for a loan which 
we can not spare and avert disaster at home — these are some 
of the more immediate things that we must face and solve. 
Democracy is at its time of testing, and in the instance of the 
Peace Treaty, at least, it has clearly failed. Those founders 
of '76 and later have handed us a form which has failed to 
function in a time of crisis — so logically, we must resort to 
something better if we are to progress. 

But here a difficulty obtrudes itself. As a nation we have 
lost our nerve — we want nothing so much as to crawl in our 



184 The Magazine 

holes — and then pull the same in after ns. We don't know 
whether Bolshevism has gained any appreciable hold on the 
mind of college students in the South, or elsewhere, but if it 
has, what of it? That we are going to change some of our 
existing institutions of government — that some of our anti- 
quated machinery must be brought up to date so it will really 
respond to the will of the people is obvious to all who care to 
consider the facts in the case. Flintlock institutions must go ; 
their day and generation has already gone. 

So we can say to Bolshevists, anarchists, or what-not, to 
"put up or shut up." If they have something really worth 
while surely there exists within their ranks the brains to 
bring their wares before the people of this nation in a favor- 
able light. AVe refuse to believe that a great panacea for all 
our ills is wandering aimlessly over the land with no leaders 
to believe in it who are really leaders — if it be the real thing. 
If a thousand or ten thousand college students in the South 
represent Bolshevistic doctrines and ideas, we fail to see 
where there is cause for alarm. The probability is, however, 
that the vast majority of this number are simply dissatisfied 
with the existing state of affairs and are simply groping in 
the dark. At any rate, we invite those scared individuals the 
country over to come out of their holes, and to cease thinking 
that just because a man is disgusted with the workings of the 
dear old moss-covered, antiquated, weather-beaten, hoary- 
headed, cumbersome machine at Washington that he is em- 
bracing Bolshevistic doctrines, and is therefore playing with 
the devil. The invitation is urgent ; come forth and venture 
a hand at patching up a newer and better order of things. We 
might do much good, and, any way, there is much to be said 
for the contention that we cant do any harm. 



The Magazine 185 



Cfte Call of §>outi) ametica 

Mary E. Verner 

A telegram was received from Montevideo, Uruguay, con- 
gratulating the University on her one hundred and twenty- 
sixth anniversary, from the four Carolina men who are work- 
ing there. Three of them were sent out by the National City 
Bank of New York, and judging by their letters, are all 
deeply interested in their work and enjoying life. In a letter 
published in the Alumni Review for February, Mr. R. C. 
de Rossett mentions the beaches that even in the midst of 
December are crowded, makes some remarks about the heat, 
and the intricacies of the Spanish language. He and the 
others, "Red" Cooper and Jack Powell, are very much deter- 
mined to master this very idiomatic language, and being 
Carolina men, will probably do so. Mr. J. V. Whitfield, '15, 
is also in Montevideo, as American Vice-Consul, and he and 
his wife have secured a home recently. Mr. de Rossett says 
that Mr. Whitfield is accumulating a store of "good ones" 
which he is hoarding to spring on his friends some day ! 

Three men now in the Senior class have been selected by 
the National City Bank to go out as their representatives, 
John Washburn, E. E. White, and R. B. Gwynn. These men 
represent the finest type of men that come to the University, 
and will be certain to make good in South America, where 
they will also be sent. The best wishes of their friends and 
of all Carolina men go with them. 

It is interesting to note that eighteen men — Sophomores, 
Juniors, and Seniors — applied for these National City Bank 
scholarships this year, the largest number that has ever ap- 
plied at one time. The faculty have selected three men, G. 



186 The Magazine 

D. Crawford, Kobert Davis, and Sidney Allen, and the Bank 
will take as many men as they need from the faculty's choice. 

Apart from the men that are interested in this banking 
work, the students of the Engineering Schools are more in- 
terested than others in South America. Many Chemical En- 
gineers are expecting to go southward, and a number of men 
in Civil Engineering and Geology are planning to take 
up work in South America. For these professions there is 
almost unlimited opportunity for experience, development, 
and prosperity as well. 

In years past, men have gone south after their graduation, 
from many of whom we doubtless have heard nothing. Among 
them are Dr. M. C. Guthrie, who for a number of years has 
been Quarantine Officer on the Canal Zone, in Panama. All 
who knew him there esteemed him highly, both professionally 
and personally. Among our most successful alumni may be 
counted Mr. de Berniere H. Whittaker, who is Vice-Presi- 
dent and General Manager of the Spanish-American Mining 
Company, Santiago, Cuba. He has held this position for a 
number of years, and has become one of the most prominent 
men in Cuba. His personality is extremely pleasing; those 
who know him praise him highly, and consider him as a man 
of unusual personal charm and business ability. 

Largely through the efforts and influence of Mr. Edward 
Porter, who was a Carolina man, and taught some years 
afterwards in Cuba, many Cuban students have come to Caro- 
lina. The first ones sent by Mr. Porter were Manuel Que- 
vedo, Justo Aspiagn, and the elder Llorenz boys. Tomaso 
Llorenz, '11, who graduated in Civil Engineering, is a suc- 
cessful planter now; his brother, Felix, '11, is with the San- 
tiago Traction Company as an Electrical Engineer; Fran- 
cisco Llorenz, '11, is Chief Engineer in the Chapaira Sugar 
Company. Adolf o Rodriguez, '10, is practicing medicine 
now, very successfully; his brother, Eduardo Rodriguez, '11, 



The Magazine 187 

is a Civil Engineer. Alberto Poiro, '10, owns a very pros- 
perous drug business in Ciego de Avila, Camaguey, Cuba, 
assisted in his work by his brother, Enrique Poiro. Alberto 
Soler, ' 17, is a chemist in the Palmarite Sugar Company, and 
owns a drug store, which he runs in the winter. Pharmacy, 
Electrical and Civil Engineering are the most popular courses 
among the Latin-American students, which is easily ex- 
plained by the great demand for those professions. There are 
three students here now from Latin- America, two of whom, 
Kicardo Cumpiano, a Porto Kican, and Fernando Llorenz, 
are taking the pre-medical course, and Cesar Cumpiano, who 
is studying law. Francisco Ferentes, who was here in 1910, 
coming with an M. A. degree from the University of Barce- 
lona, Spain, is now a professor in Camaguey Institute, in 
Cuba. Sr. Ferentes had a brother here also, who studied 
Electrical Engineering. 

Although the number of Carolina men who have ventured 
into the "lands beyond the Spanish Main" is small, those 
who have gone have been of the highest type that Carolina 
has, and have acquitted themselves accordingly. The field 
is open still, a glorious prospect of opportunity, service, and 
endeavor, that the college men are turning to in larger and 
larger numbers. American men of the truest stamp are more 
than welcome in South American countries ; those who have 
gone have stood the test, and their record, as all confidently 
believe, will be kept up — Carolina men in the lands to the 
South will "Carry on." 



188 The Magazine 



TSlatk Commie 

J. S. Moore 

"I knew him when he wasn't more than ten years old, for 
it was then that his mother, old Aunt Cyndia, came to cook 
for my uncle who lived just across the street from us. He 
was a strange little fellow. I remember that several of the 
little boys and girls in the neighborhood were afraid of him. 
He was a half-wit and had a way of chuckling that was indeed 
weird. He rarely ever talked, but he was a splendid errand 
boy. So carefully did he acquit himself of his duties that 
Uncle gave him little extra jobs of work from time to time. 
He kept this money, guarding it with an almost paganlike 
devotion. The other negro boys around the place said he did 
no have sense enough to spend it. However that may have 
been I can not say, but I do know that he worked well, and 
that as he became older he was regarded by my uncle as one 
of his most trusty servants. 

"Imagine my surprise when Mary, my wife, came into the 
little alcove where I was reading one spring morning, break- 
ing in on me with the incredible news that he was married. 

" 'It is simply a phenomenon for this little town,' she 
laughed, 'I should surely have expected him to remain in his 
celibate stage of life forever. How in the world did he do 
it ? All the other negroes may well take the optimistic view 
of matrimony hereafter V 

"She laughed heartily while I was rummaging around in 
my rather poor vocabulary for that big word she had used — 
celibate ? 

" 'Oh !' she broke out fresh, seeing how puzzled I was, 'he's 
married, the half-wit's married.' 



The Magazine 189 

"Mary always got fun out of anything. 

"You should have seen the couple together. Such a con- 
trast ! He was black, flat-nosed, kinky-haired, and possessing 
a large majority of all the other African attributes, while she, 
on the other hand, was a bright mulatto, possessing more of 
the characteristics of her white ancestors than of her black 
ones. 

"He had only been working for himself about a year when 
he was married, his mother having received the bulk of his 
wages up till that time. The compensation that he had re- 
ceived for his work as house-boy, driver, and so on had been 
something like twenty dollars per month. Of course, he had 
got his board along with it. And, as a rule, Uncle gave him 
his clothes. As I have said, he was too economical to spend 
anything; consequently, he had saved most of his year's 
wages. He deposited this money with me. 

"After his marriage he used to tell me that he had a hard 
time to save anything. 

" 'I tell you, Boss !' he'd chuckle, 'you know dat gal I 
marry? Well, she jess outshine dem other niggers 'round 
here so bad dat I jess natu'ally 'bliged to put de dressing on 
her. Dat's whay my money go.' 

"Once or twice he came, wanting to draw out money. 

" 'Boss, you know one o' dem nigger gals 'cross de way 
from whay we lives done got a white silk coat. She think 
she gwine outshine Melinda, but Lawd ! she ain't! dat she 
ain't ! I gwine git Melinda a red 'un,' he exclaimed. 

"It was amusing to hear him talk about this Melinda of 
his, and it would have taken a much deeper psychological 
mind than I possessed to understand the dog-like devotion 
and worship that he gave to her, for negroes usually reach 
the culminating point of their love with the consummation of 
marriage. They rarely appear devoted afterwards. 



190 The Magazine 

"One day he came down to see me. My first glimpse at 
him told me that he was full of dark foreboding. His eyes 
were livid, and his lower jaw was sagging pitifully. 

" 'Have you come to make a deposit V I asked, 'or do you 
want money for another silk coat V 

" 'Naw, Sah, Boss/ he chuckled miserably, 'I wants yo 
Vice consarning a little domestical trouble. Miss Harris 
offer Melinda twelve dollars a munth fo' to cook, and she 
done got wild fer to do it. If I lets her work out, all dem 
other sorry niggers be saying I cain't 'sport her in high style, 
and I jess natu'ally don't want Melinda fer to cook nohow.' 

"I counselled him as I thought best, but his mind wasn't 
receptive to my argument. He went away, chuckling more 
distractedly than ever. Several days later Mary told me that 
Melinda had carried her point. For awhile he seemed very 
dejected and miserable, and indeed, he had some cause to be, 
for just as he had predicted, the other negroes did take a 
delight in saying that they knew 'dat high flying want gwine 
ter last.' However, as Melinda's pay day rolled around, 
he evidently began to see the wisdom of her course. Once 
more his face became clear, and there was something like a 
smile on his thick lips when he came to make another deposit. 

" 'Melinda, she 'bout right I spects, arter all, coss now we's 
gwine save something.' 

" After this time deposits became monthly, and on occasion 
they were even larger than before his marriage. I heard 
nothing more about silk dresses for Melinda. Possibly Mrs. 
Harris relieved him of this burden. 

"As the months wore on, his little bank account grew con- 
siderably larger. 

"Once when he made his deposit, asking his usual question, 
'How much dat make V I inquired of him what his plans were 
for investing his money. 

" 'We gwine git a lot and build a house on it,' was the la- 
conic answer. 



The Magazine 191 

"This was another puzzle. I failed to understand how 
such industry could be housed in what the world termed a 
half-wit, 

"His work, his money, and his Malinda were his veritable 
gods, and he worshiped them in his own pagan-like way. 

"The time came when he wanted to know of me if he had 
enough money to build his house. I was inclined to think 
that he had better add a little more to his hoard, but he 
seemed to have suddenly grown impatient. He chuckled 
something about Melinda's wanting to get into her own house. 
Then he mumbled a confidential secret. This, too, was about 
Melinda. 

"Some few weeks later a little three-room house had gone 
up on his lot. Of course, it had its ceiling, its piazza, and 
its hall, for every negro thinks these are the first essentials 
of any respectable house. It was painted, too, and more 
strangely still, the paint was white. 

"It was finished in May. Melinda had stopped cooking 
for Mrs. Harris and was patiently waiting for the coming 
event. In the meantime she busied herself in planting morn- 
ing glories and honeysuckles by her porch, flowers in her 
yard, and seeds in her garden. 

"The general conception of a negro house and its surround- 
ings isn't very favorable, for as a rule, it is neither pleasant 
to the eye nor at all delightful to some of the other senses. 
His and Melinda's house was different. The situation of it 
was decidedly good, and it was well kept. Several yards in 
front of the house stood an old sycamore, while just back of 
it was a little green valley. Mary and I never passed it that 
she did not make some remark about the clean yard, the 
unique arrangement of garden and flowers, or of the peaceful 
atmosphere that seemed to hover around it. 

"The little place really did look homelike and inviting. He 
and Melinda were proud of it, too. They seemed to glory in 



192 The Magazine 

getting a new piece of furniture or any other little article for 
it. Everybody seemed engrossed in watching his and her 
happy progress. Theirs was the result of honest, menial 
labor. Who could begrudge it them ? 

"It was in early August that Mary told me of the result of 
the stork's visit to Melinda. About three or four weeks later, 
when we were out driving, she insisted on stopping to see if 
the baby was like Melinda or the Half-wit. 

"The place was beautiful then. Nature had worked its 
enhancing beauty in the green garden, in the flowers in the 
yard, and in the honeysuckles and morning glories that had 
trailed up and around the piazza posts. A few chickens were 
scratching on the edge of the yard. A mocking bird had 
perched himself on a limb of the old sycamore, and was pour- 
ing forth a flood of miscellaneous song. The little white 
house was radiant in the evening sun, while a thread of smoke 
rose from the chimney, winding itself spirally upwards until 
it vanished into a yellowish vapor. The woman in the house 
was crooning a melody. 

" 'How beautiful !' exclaimed Mary. The happiness of a 
whole world seems buried here in this lowly place, here 
among these happy, ignorant people of society's lowest stage.' 

" 'O, Melinda,' she called, 'show us the baby.' 

"In an instant Melinda's childish face, aglow with pride 
and happiness, popped out of the hall door. 

" 'Jess wait a minute,' she said, 'till I kin put its white 
coat on it.' 

"Presently she came running across the yard, holding up 
her boy. 

" 'He's light, Miss Mary, jess like me, and the bestest little 
thing,' she crooned. 

"Such was his and her home. Their happiness was com- 
plete, or at least that is what Mary said as we drove off. 



The Magazine 193 

"The sun set, and Melinda began to busy herself about 
supper. After gathering up some chips from the wood-pile, 
she lighted a fire in her stove, put on her coffee pot, and went 
to cut her meat. At this juncture the baby emitted a shrill 
little cry. It was unusual. She left off cutting her meat, and 
ran to it. Nothing appeared wrong, but the little fellow kept 
on crying. She sang to it, she jumped it up and down. She 
tried to put it to her breast ; but it still cried. It was dusk, 
but the half-wit had not yet come, and probably wouldn't for 
an hour. She couldn't let the little thing cry all that time 
without doing something for it. She was bewildered, but 
presently she thought about Granny Betts, the old mid-wife, 
who knew all about babies. Granny Betts lived just across 
the way. Melinda tried to call her, but she could not throw 
her voice that far. Her mind didn't think just right, or she 
would have taken the baby with her. Maybe, however, she 
thought the air was too damp for it. Any way, she laid it 
down in the cradle, closed the door, and went running for 
Granny Betts. 

"Granny Betts was old and had always been accustomed 
to crying babies. She told Melinda that it was a baby's way 
to cry just when its mammy wanted to cook supper. Besides, 
she had the rheumatiz, and could hardly walk. She couldn't 
shake Melinda off. Perhaps Melinda was too young to know 
babies' ways, but she was old enough to know that something 
was wrong with her baby, for it hadn't been accustomed to 
cry like that. 

" 'Aunt Betts,' she cried, 'please come on. The little fel- 
low's there right by hisself, and I tell ye there's something 
wrong with him.' 

"At this instant there was a wild cry outside. For one 
moment Melinda stood like a stone statue — paralyzed. Then 
she flew out of the house and along the road. 



194 The Magazine 

"Numbers of negroes and of white people were coming 
from all directions. All were crying one word — FIRE ! ! 

"The half-wit was hack there at my uncle's, ignorant that 
all of his idols were slipping from him. 

"A crowd had reached the house before Melinda got there, 
but none had dared go in, for the whole roof was ablaze. No 
one knew about the baby's being on the inside. The roaring 
of the fire drowned its cries. Frantically she tore through 
the crowd, and before any one realized her purpose she was 
on the porch. She grasped the doorknob, and swung the door 
open. As she did so, a volume of angry, fiery smoke leapt 
out and enveloped her. A groan went up from the crowd as 
her light skirt disappeared in the hallway. At the same in- 
stant the roof fell in. 

"The house was in coals on the ground when the half-wit 
ran up, breathless and wild. He could see from the faces of 
the terrorized crowd what had happened. He tried to plunge 
into the bed of coals, but we held him back. 

"For a week he walked in the woods, never muttering a 
word, and holding his blood-shot eyes on the ground. His 
idols were gone! He would worship no more!" 

"Do you wonder now that he never speaks V 9 asked Mr. 
Martinette of the girl when he had finished his story. 

She did not answer, but presently, looking up from wet 
eyelashes, she asked, "What is his name, Uncle?" 

"O, yes," he responded, "his name is Black Commie." 



The Magazine 195 



COoman Suffrage 

P. A. Reavis, Jr. 

Probably before this article is published two more states 
will ratify the proposed amendment to the Constitution of the 
United States which would give women the right to vote. 
But whether this amendment is accepted or not by the re- 
quired thirty-six states makes no difference in what I have 
to say. It is true that we are living in the twentieth century, 
and in an age never before dreamed of by human beings. It 
is true that we have gotten away from many time-worn and 
honored customs. We have got so far away from those cus- 
toms that we do not know where we stand in many matters 
of importance to us to-day. We have no fixed goal. We do 
not even know where to begin to find a goal or how to reach 
it after it is found. Certainly some of this hub-bub comes 
as an after effect of the war, but most of it comes from the 
tendency, upon the part of our people, to live ahead of the 
times. Now some of you who read this may think I am a 
pupil of the "Old School," but I'm not. But it does seem to 
me sometimes when I am thinking at the roots of a thing 
that we would be considerably better off if we would go back 
and grasp some of the principles, ideals, and ways of our 
mothers and fathers. The trouble with our age, as I see it, 
is that we are attempting to live too fast. By what I have 
just said, no doubt some of the readers will say that I am 
unprogressive, but I am not. I like to see progress, but the 
right kind of progress, as well as any one. And one of these 
so-called progressive issues which I think will do more harm 
than good is Woman Suffrage. 



196 The Magazine 

Woman Suffrage, it seems to me, will do more to destroy 
our happiness than anything else. There are many argu- 
ments against it, any one of which would fill the whole of 
this magazine, so I shall have to hit only the high places and 
show just a few of my objections to this great movement. In 
the first place, the woman belongs in the home. This has 
been her place from time immemorable and will always re- 
main so unless civilized man "raises" society to such a level 
that she will be taken from the place for which she was and 
is predestined and foreordained. And what could do this 
easier than Woman Suffrage? Nothing, for several reasons. 
The moment woman is given the right to vote she will neces- 
sarily begin going to the polls. This alone is all right, if 
there were not other bad influences which will work there. 
But when she goes to the polls, sooner or later she will begin 
to accept bribes, to run for office, to go about "politicing," 
etc., all of which works against the unity of the home. Noth- 
ing serves a human being like a home and what would tend 
to break up this upbuilding element in civilization more than 
the losing of its mistress ? 

Going into politics and running for office would soon lead 
the woman to run for high, responsible offices, which she is 
incompetent to hold because of her small reasoning powers. 
Prof. William H. Walling, A. M., M. D., in his book entitled 
"Sexology," gives a clear and concise statement which shows 
and proves scientifically that because of the smallness of the 
size of the anterior part of a woman's brain she is unequal to 
the man in powers of reasoning and analysis, while, on the 
other hand, with the posterior part of her brain, which is 
considerably larger than that of the man, she is possessed of 
far greater emotional powers. This scientific fact alone would 
disqualify her for suffrage. 

There are many arguments against this movement, includ- 
ing the one which reviews the question from the standpoint 



The Magazine 197 

of the negro woman. As the law stands the negro woman is 
not disqualified to vote and when we let the negro populace 
vote in the South their vote will outnumber that of the whites. 
This suffrage amendment brings on more difficult problems 
for the South to solve and we all know that we already have 
enough. The most important argument, however, is the one 
already mentioned, the one relating to the home. There are 
many who argue for this suffrage movement but my own 
opinion is that if the vote were left to the people of North 
Carolina, both male and female, the bill would be defeated 
by an overwhelming majority. 

The above partly shows why I am opposed to Woman Suf- 
frage and I do not think that I stand alone among the stu- 
dents of this University in my opinion of the question. In 
closing this discussion I wish to refer to some words used by 
Hon. O. Max Gardiner, in a recent address to the University 
student body, with which he described the people of our State. 
He said, "We of North Carolina are a notoriously individ- 
ualistic people" mainly because we are so conservative. This 
trait has raised North Carolina from the humblest to one of 
the highest positions on the map of our country. My hope is 
that we will further show this trait which has made us famous 
by a declaration against this question of Woman Suffrage, 
which will do more harm than good. 



198 The Magazine 



Cfte 3foutnep Lottie 

William D. Hakeis 

Captain Osborne rested against the moist rail of the prom- 
enade deck as he gazed lingeringly towards the low-lying hills 
bordering the banks of the Garonne. The stroke of the ship's 
engines was perceptibly increasing now that the tortuous voy- 
age down the river from Bordeaux had been completed, and 
the lighthouse furthest seaward was being passed. By a sim- 
ilar ratio the thoughts of the two thousand men in khaki 
quickened as France was merging from actuality to the fan- 
tastic realm of memory. Hardly a year had most of these 
men been in France; France! La Belle France! La Patrie! 
No, it had not been La Belle France for these two thousand 
sons of the Western Republic. It had been a France of mud, 
of sleepless nights and terrifying ordeals, a France of horror, 
blood and death. A few, more fortunate than their comrades, 
had seen the south of France ; had seen the moonbeams play 
on the blue waters of the Mediterranean at Nice, the palms 
and sunny hills of that incomparable, blest creation of Na- 
ture — the Riviera. To them it was La Belle France. All 
had taken their turn at slandering this land to which strong 
and brave men from the four corners of the earth had rushed 
to defend, for here was the front line of civilization. Now 
that the landless days of an Atlantic voyage were before them 
these young men experienced a different feeling towards this 
land. 

We love that for which we toil and sacrifice. In the hearts 
of these Atlantic passengers a transformation was working. 
There was not one countenance but expressed serious medi- 
tation ; down a young-old, bronzed face an occasional tear 



The Magazine 199 

trickled. Somewhere in France a "buddie" slept beneath the 
silent white cross that kept guard over his hallowed remains. 
A kindly old grand/mere with Andre and Marie, would care 
for the grave of Vami, le solddt Americdin. There were some 
good things to say about France. It did become rather mon- 
otonous to hear this continual knocking of the French. Had 
the Americans really known anything of the real France? 
Hadn't most of the fellows on leave looked for the bright 
lights and gay madam'selles, and had never seen the sturdy, 
virtuous folk who were the bulwark and strength of the re- 
public ? The poilu was a good fighter, a likable fellow and a 
faithful, joyous comrade. Paris was a beautiful city. Per- 
haps the country was beautiful. The north of France was 
not the whole of France. 

There were many who braved the cold of that clear Feb- 
ruary day to catch one last glimpse of Europe, who began a 
mental inventory as they realized that in a few weeks war 
would be but a memory. The privileges and duties of civil- 
ians would be theirs. Experiences of the past months had 
made an indelible impression. These experiences were theirs ; 
no human power could take them away. What did the new 
life have in store for them ? Was it to be the same old hum- 
drum ; or were those visions of a greater, nobler life — re- 
vealed only very rarely between flashes of star shells at night 
— to be realized ? Some had no such inspiration. Memories 
brought self-reproach and anguish to these. Of such was 
Captain Osborne. 

"I've fought this tendency and fought it, Bob, since my 
high school days ; and it seems that there's no hope for me." 

These words were spoken in a calm, decisive, square-jawed 
tone. Yet the glitter and slight closing of the steel-grey eyes 
betrayed an inward emotion. Like a judge passing sentence 
upon himself the young officer uttered the words in an im- 
personal, conclusive manner. 



200 The Magazine 

If you met John W. Osborne alone, or in any aggregation 
of people you would pause to look at him again. I have no 
intention to paraphrase the description of "heroes," that so 
many admiring hero-creators give to the supposedly anxious 
public. But a true depiction of the leading character in this 
story contains most of the elements of the story-book variety. 
A glance at Captain Osborne's tall, firmly knit, stalwart fig- 
ure would give an impression of physical ability and confi- 
dence. You would love his grey eyes which met yours 
squarely, and which at one moment would insinuate a genial, 
humorous twinkle, to be almost instantly replaced by the 
serious, far-away, longing expression of one who knows Fate's 
decrees and ponders the futility of defying them. The deco- 
ration fiends would notice the two gold stripes on either sleeve 
and the medals from the governments of the United States, 
France and Great Britain. 

To the curious who might meticulously inquire, Captain 
Osborne could have explained how the wounds were received 
during that memorable month of September, 1918, when the 
Second Army Corps lent powerful aid to the British forces 
in breaking the Hindenburg line. The second stripe was 
for an ugly shoulder wound received at Bellicourt on the 
twenty-ninth when Osborne's company encountered a very 
hive of Boche machine guns. That day the Carolinians and 
Tennesseans of the Old Hickory Division taught the Huns 
that the old rebel vigor and fire was as deeply instilled in the 
veins of Southerners of 1918, as ever they were in the in- 
trepid followers of the knightly Lee. New York's militia- 
men of the Twenty-seventh vied right honorably that Sep- 
tember day with their compatriots, proving that the fighting 
American belongs to no one section but to all parts of a re- 
united, indivisible union of states. But let me return to my 
story. 



The Magazine 201 

Lieutenant Caswell made no answer to this unusual asser- 
tion of his boyhood friend. He knew that Jack Osborne had 
restrained this confidence for a long time and was ready for 
some sort of a confession concerning a very delicate affair. 
Not that Caswell was without some knowledge of a certain 
unfortunate story circulated in the regiment concerning Os- 
borne. He wanted to think of something else — of the 
trenches, of home. His spirit was in harmony with the spirit 
of the ship's company. A chapter had been written deep in 
the lives of these westward bound people. There had been a 
world war thousands of miles from home that threatened their 
government, their country. These children of the New World 
were returning from a crusade to the Old World, where they 
fought in the victory to save civilization. The cursed Hun 
was crushed, for the time being at least. Thoughts now were 
of the homeland, of the dear ones anxiously waiting there, 
of the days and years ahead. There was a soothing satisfac- 
tion in the confidence that the world would be a little better 
off, after all. In the army one learned to confine his mental 
activity to practical things, so a new heaven on earth was 
not expected immediately by the soldier. Thinking of these 
things, Caswell waited in silence for the Captain to continue. 

"You have known me, Bob, since the days the cop used to 
interrupt our ball games on Summit Avenue. You were my 
best friend in college. I was never what you would call a 
moral reprobate. Yet there's always been a peculiar fasci- 
nation that vivacious girls of the "fast" type could exercise 
over me — which, I may say, was reciprocal. My conduct 
was subject to quite a bit of gossip in school. Most of this 
chatter was without foundation; I never bothered to deny 
anything. I realized my special weakness, and I fought to 
overcome that weakness. At first it seemed that I would lose, 
but when Mary came along it looked like the devil was 
whipped. I loved her desperately. She loved me and made 



202 The Magazine 

a man of me — for a while. We were married, as you know, 
the year I began practicing. At home now is a little young- 
ster, Jack — the idol of his mother — because, as she says, he 
will be just like me. I hope not." 

Captain Osborne paused to brush a tear away. He cleared 
his throat as he resumed : 

"I was doing well. Was building up a good practice as 
old McLeod's junior partner. Was happy at home and abso- 
lutely true to Mary. Then war was declared ; and a call was 
made for volunteers for officers' training camps. Mary and I 
talked the matter over. I went to Oglethorpe and got a first 
lieutenancy. You know of how I was assigned to the 119th 
at Sevier and of our trip across. Bob, you've heard some 
ugly reports about me in France. Well, the worst of it is 
that they are true ; yet there's a little to be said in my behalf. 

"It was near Amiens the trouble began. I was down there 
on a special assignment conferring with some British staff 
officers. If you have ever been to Amiens you have heard of 
the 'Marquise.' She had a niece. Renee Tissaert was her 
name. It's no excuse for me, but, Bob, any one would have 
fallen for that girl, just like I did. Her ability to speak 
English served to deepen our acquaintance. Here was beauty, 
vivacity, charm itself, and I could talk to her in the language 
of God's country. An American was a rare sight in those 
days in that neighborhood. So she, well, was very friendly 
to 'Monsieur, l'officier Americain.' I was in a sporting mood; 
knew that we'd go in the lines soon and then God only could 
tell what would happen. I made love to her — in the Amer- 
ican way. Was absolutely square with the girl, whether you 
believe it or not. Then the devil began his inning." 

The number of promenaders was decreasing. A few nurses, 
Eed Cross and "Y" men, and French civilians — among whom 
were some war brides of the A. E. F. — were still making the 
familiar circuit. Captain Osborne glanced apprehensively 
at some young French ladies that passed near the two officers. 



The Magazine 203 

"Yes, there's when the devil began his count, A hurried 
order came for me to report to the outfit within three days. 
That night I saw Renee and told her that the 'Americain' 
would 'parti' soon ; that I'd be in the trenches soon. Then I 
discovered that she loved me, or thought she did, anyway. 
To be fair about it this daughter of Normandy fascinated 
me. She was French, yet possessed some of the old Norse 
traits. Her eyes were blue; her hair was blond and wavy. 
Her figure was lithe and, for a French girl, athletic. The 
privations of war had not taken the bloom of health from her 
cheeks. 'Twas not rouge that deceived me; that I know. She 
was really a worthy girl, Bob. Well, by a judicious use of 
the francs I obtained the marriage license without fulfilling 
the requirement of residence in the commune, and we were 
married, first by the mayor, and then by her priest, 

"In the wild intoxication of that brief, tempestuous honey- 
moon I forgot Mary, home, friends, everything but the fasci- 
nation of Renee and the grim shadow of Mars stretching out 
his gory hand towards me. In a few nights perhaps Death 
would find me. Ha ! What did I care ! Even Death could 
not rob me of those wild hours of happiness with Renee. I 
was as defiant of fate as Henley's 'Captain.' 

"We went into the lines soon after that. The fear of death 
did not bother me. In fact, at first I was afraid that I would 
not be killed. Then the stings of conscience began to be less 
smarting. I resolved to visit Renee after the war, in case I 
lived through it. Somehow a divorce would be arranged, or 
the marriage annulled. At night crouched in a filthy, lousy, 
rat-ridden dugout when we'd attempt a few minutes sleep I 
would squirm and twist as I thought of Mary and little Jack. 
It was hell, Bob. 

"Well, you know how we were wounded in the scrap near 
the canal at Bellicourt and sent to the hospital at Rouen. 
There I tried to forget Renee, hoping that perhaps she had 



204 The Magazine 

forgotten me and that all would end well. But the 'Marquise* 
wrote me that they were expecting me to take Renee to Amer- 
ica. That letter was never answered. Renee was fairly 
wealthy and in no danger of great privation. Through some 
friends in Rouen the old lady kept posted about me. 

"The day we left the hospital for Bordeaux I wrote Renee 
a long letter. I told her of my wife and child in America, 
that I loved her, too, as my little French sweetheart and im- 
plored her forgiveness. I wanted to be a gentleman about it, 
Bob ; to tell her the truth and let her secure the divorce with- 
out any trouble after my departure. But I don't think my 
acts were those of a gentleman — not the kind of a gentleman 
your dad and my dad are, Bob." 

By the ship's lights the foam sweeping from the prow could 
be seen. The new moon prevented a view of the swells that 
could hardly be noted in the thickening darkness. The two 
officers were silent for several moments. 

"Jack, old man, cheer up. All's well that ends well. Soon 
'twill be home again for us. Forget this part of your experi- 
ences in France. We are all human, and the best of us make 
mistakes. Probably that girl has forgotten you and has mar- 
ried another. Who knows ? You've acted right square about 
it. We are all going home to start life over again. We'll 
wipe the slate clean, and keep it clean. We're going home, 
Jack! Cheer up!" 

There was a long pause. Presently Lieutenant Caswell 
yawned, stood erect and stretched. 

"Believe I'll turn in. Going below?" 
"No. Think I'll stay above a little longer. Good night." 
As Captain Osborne lighted a cigarette he gave inaudible 
thanks that there were no cursed U-boats to bother a man's 
smoking now. He turned to watch the few undaunted pas- 
sengers who persisted in remaining on deck. Curiously he 



The Magazine 205 

noticed a lone woman in civilian clothes. Suddenly she starts 
toward him. Ha ! 'Tis an acquaintance. 'Twill he a bon 
voyage, indeed. 

"My God! It's Renee!" 

A deadly pallor came over the young Captain's face. His 
hands reached and tenaciously clutched the rail. 

"Jack! Jack! Ah, mon cherie! Je t'aime! Je t' dime I Kiss 
me, Jack !" Renee in her excitement alternately speaks her 
mother tongue and that of the Anglo-Saxons. Her arms fly 
about his neck and tighten. Her beseeching, feverish lips 
are turned toward his. Her chin is lifted at an angle allur- 
ing and yearning. Tears of sheer joy and of tremulous anxi- 
ety trickle from blue eyes. Strands of wavy, blond hair play 
engagingly in the light breeze. Love and beauty pray for 
love requited. 

A strange light illumines the grey eyes of Captain Osborne 
— and lingers. Unconsciously he nods his head in affirma- 
tion. His faculty for making an instant decision in an emer- 
gency has not failed him. How quiet and calm is the man ! 

"Is it really my little French sweetheart, my little Renee ?" 

He gently drew her to him. Tenderly, almost punctil- 
iously, he kissed her warm lips. Passionately she replied. 
When a woman loves there's no power on earth, above, or 
below that can restrain her from revealing it. Jack Osborne 
again was certain that Renee truly loved him. And the love 
of Mary pounded his heart at every beat. Two women loved 

him. He was the husband of both. 

* 
Arm in arm he walked with Renee to the deck below the 

saloon. At the foot of the stairway he playfully kissed her, 

and asked to be excused for a moment. He hurried to his 

cabin and quietly entered so as not to disturb his mates. 

Quickly he procured a small khaki-bound Testament and 

turned to the fourteenth chapter of St. John. Mary had told 

him to read this whenever he felt like giving up all hope. 

Nervously he read : 



206 The Magazine 

"Let not your heart be troubled. Ye believe in God, be- 
lieve also in me." 

Some one opened the door of the adjoining cabin. Hastily 
Jack arose and by a passage seldom used made his way to the 
stern of the ship. There he paused and observed that no one 
was about that part of the ship. Slowly he began to walk up 
and down the short stern deck. A searching of the soul, so 
far as the powers of mind were competent, was to take place. 
John W. Osborne was in the witness chair. John W. Os- 
borne was the prosecuting attorney conducting the cross- 
examination. 

"Death is too light a punishment for my kind. Ah ! Mary 
and little Jack ! If they knew. Would they ever wish to see 
me again ? Is there heart in me to face them ? What a fool 
I was, a contemptible weak fool ! 'Tis true that the war was 
a big game, a tremendous upheaval that carried away for a 
time part of character's foundation. I thought that the world 
could forgive one a sin of human weakness. My life was 
offered as a sacrifice to save the world. Surely this atoned 
for all the sins of the flesh. Surely we do not hold their sins 
against them — those who 'sleep in Flanders fields, beneath 
the crosses row on row.' I might have as easily been there 
to-night, but for immediate medical attention when wounded. 
My God ! I wish I were there ! Dr. Roberts once made a talk 
to us in chapel at college on the futility of attempting to beat 
the game. You reap what you sow. You can't escape the 
consequences of your act. 'Tis bitter, oh, how bitter; but 'tis 
true that the wages of sin is death — in one form or another. 
Why didn't I realize that at Amiens ? Where was my will 
power, my love for Mary and Jack, my common decency ?" 

The anguished walker looked down at the dark waters. 
Would they wash away the stains and square his debt to the 
decency of the world — to the two women who loved him ? 



The Magazine 207 

"Ha! Like Hamlet I ponder here: 'To be or not to be; 
that is the question.' Whether to live, to face the world and 
win, or — Ah ! Let the foolish French girl pay the bill. The 
Atlantic is broad and deep. One body would be forever lost 
in its bosom. Craven coward ! A Southerner and an Amer- 
ican plotting the destruction of an innocent girl! Let my 
own body be swallowed under the waves and my soul go to 
hell before I do this contemptible thing! Mother, hear the 
cry of a wayward son and give him counsel as when as a little 
boy he knelt to pray 'Now I lay me down to sleep.' Light! 
Light ! Oh, God, give me light !" 

All was quiet save for the splashing of the foamy water 
against the ship and the muffled stroke of the engines. 




208 The Magazine 



$&tzito— Cfte §>icb e@an 

Ralph D. Williams 

Whether it be Madero, Huerta, Villa, or Carranza the net 
results are the same. Twelve to fourteen million illiterate 
mixed breeds, a thin veneer of highly educated Spaniards, a 
few who can either read or write but can not do both, and a 
small percentage of pure-bred Indians ; a total of about six- 
teen million — indifferent, docile, industrious, and suspicious. 
This is the personnel of that portion of the world designated 
by ex-President Taft as "an international nuisance." 

It is our wish that we might live in loyal good-fellowship 
with these people. But these happy relations require mutual 
cooperation. And such cooperation is one of the things we 
have never consistently had from any Mexican faction; an- 
other is respect for the United States as a nation. And these 
are the things we desire more than anything else Mexico can 
give. Aggression for territorial gain is not our national pol- 
icy. Provincial protectorates are cumbersome diplomatic 
problems and should be shouldered reluctantly. 

It would be a fine thing for the United States if this per- 
plexing situation could be swept into oblivion by some mir- 
acle. But problems of this kind are not solved that way. 
Mexico is a sick man. He lives and has his being as our 
Southern neighbor. We must perform the miracle. 

In seeking a solution of the entanglement there are three 
angles of approach. We may continue the policy of "watch- 
ful waiting" adopted in 1914 and under which Mexico has 
daily wended her way further into a turbid gulf of chaos. 
For a change we could withdraw our recognition of Carranza 
and vigorously support some other factional leader. This 



The Magazine 209 

could be done by loans of money, consignments of munitions 
and food-stuffs and the support of our good will — assistance 
similar to that rendered the Allies before our soldiers entered 
the European arena. There is one other way. Armed inter- 
vention. This seems the more feasible. It seems inevitable 
— the longer it is postponed the more inevitable it becomes. 
Destruction of industrial investments can be paid for in cash. 
But disrespect for the United States as a nation and the wan- 
ton killing of our citizens has no cash valuation. Since 1910 
five hundred and fifty-one of our citizens have been murdered 
by the bloody-shirt factions in Mexico — an average of more 
than one a week for ten years. In four months, from April 
to July (1919), three hundred and thirty-one major attacks 
were made on industrial plants and railway facilities — an 
average of more than five a day. It is this butchery and these 
depredations which make armed intervention inevitable. 

The people as a whole are not as hostile toward us as the 
howl of the ravagers would indicate. Nor will the task be 
so gruesome as generally expected. Officers who crossed the 
border under General Pershing reported a considerate re- 
ception — after the minds of the people had been disabused 
of the misconceptions planted there by the pillaging parties. 
It is a Mexican daily paper which says that eighty per cent 
of the people are indifferent toward intervention and that 
ninety per cent of the educated class would welcome inter- 
vention of any kind that would bring about peace and pro- 
tection. These people, four-fifths of the entire population, 
are exploited and voiceless in the present hodge-podge. They 
are squelched by the blood-and-thunder factions — who are 
quartered mainly in towns and villages of the south central 
part centering around Mexico City. Three-fifths of the en- 
tire area is a barren waste land sparsely settled and the moun- 
tainous regions, sometimes considered strongholds for the 
bandits, are so desolate as to afford "a permanent refuge only 



210 The Magazine 

for the dead." It would be our task to conquer the despera- 
does but we need only win the confidence of the favorable 
and indifferent factions — eighty per cent of the population. 
The attitude of these people toward Uncle Sam, when they 
come to know him, is seen in the election of the mayor of 
Vera Cruz in 1914. The city had been under martial law 
but Provost Marshal Colonel Edward H. Plummer was with- 
drawing his forces, leaving the city in the hands of the na- 
tives. Without any advocation of the act hundreds of votes 
were cast for Colonel Plummer for mayor of Vera Cruz. He 
had found the city in filth and turmoil. He left it clean and 
orderly. This was sufficient for the Mexicans. They saw. 
They believed. 

With the national election at hand, it would seem unwise 
to throw a declaration of war into the campaign just now. 
Under these circumstances it appears advisable to continue 
in "watchful waiting," or with moderate military repri- 
mands, if such is not made impossible by further outrages, 
until the presidential election is over. 

This done let us adopt and pursue a policy of temporary 
aggressive subjugation. Do it in a thorough and lasting way. 
Comb her mountains and valleys and there establish martial 
law. Let the inhabitants of the remotest village gaze upon 
the likeness of real men in the form of United States soldiers 
until they are seized by an unquenchable respect for the gov- 
ernment and people of our nation. Place at the head of this 
mongrel of humanity a Governor General, appointed by Con- 
gress or the President, with functions and powers similar to 
those of the Governor General of the Philippines. And all 
this in a spirit of impartiality and without intentions of per- 
manent retention. Do it in the spirit of a leader with the 
purpose of helping them find a new and better way. Adopt 
these methods not because of a desire to administer brutal 
treatment, or permanently dominate the political destinies 



The Magazine 



211 



of another people, but because we believe the work of stabil- 
izing any Mexican regime can be done best when the attention 
of all is focused in the same direction, on the same object, at 
the same time. As soon as compatible with future safety 
withdraw our forces and officials and leave them with a re- 
sponsible government of their own choosing and with the as- 
surance that the Yankee is their friend. 




212 The Magazine 

JFirst d&plorations in afrtcan ©range Count? 

C. W. Phillips 

In starting a new project in a new field with new methods 
and by new starters, one might look for varied results. The 
fact is the results may be of a new nature, too. If the "news" 
run criss-cross, some succeeding in one line and others in 
other lines, however, they serve to neutralize and as a result 
there may be gotten a tremendous amount of good. Then 
when the newness wears off and the machinery continues to 
run, there is evidence of good lubricants. 

To continue the figure, the helping of the more unfortu- 
nate, the spirit of unselfishness and service, is a big machine 
in the human species and the Y. M. C. A. is a lubricant that 
helps to keep well oiled that vast and intricate piece of ma- 
chinery. 

The work that the Y. M. C. A. of the University of North 
Carolina in the African part of its work has done — What has 
it done ? Do we receive cleaner linen from our laundresses ? 
Are our rooms kept any nicer by our janitors ? Do we see the 
negro that used to be on the street, off the street now reading 
the newspaper and studying a new plan by which he may aid 
his employer ? When we meet the colored man in the street, 
is he more polite or does he seem to feel proud of his educa- 
tion and attempt to be the equal of a college student ? 

Perhaps when we put our finger on definite questions like 
these we can't see through to an exact answer. But the good 
results are there. Good has been accomplished. The bene- 
fits derived from both the workers and the receivers have been 
wonderful. They can't be estimated. No, perhaps you can't 
see a definite reform growing out of the negro himself, but 
what would you expect from a people crushed for many cen- 
turies under the foot of strong nations ? What a little has 



The Magazine 213 

been done in the possibly ten years that the work has been 
going on in comparison to the principles handed down from 
generation to generation ! The leaven has been placed in the 
work and it is already fermenting the whole. Imagine your- 
self in a backward nation, having been trained as your father 
and your father's father's father was trained as to how to do 
a certain kind of work. Then imagine that some one comes 
and tells you it is the wrong way. Tells you to always do 
your best and to work to the interest of all. Do you believe 
that you would instantly accept the new and lay aside the 
old ? Even though your mind recognized the value on the 
instant, your flesh could not carry it out without constant 
study and continual teaching. But I say it again, " African 
Orange County has awakened." This section of the race is 
not behind in the universal attempt to get those people out of 
the mire. The colored people of Chapel Hill have better 
manners, more of them know how to live by the principles of 
Christ than many other sections of this state and nation. Do 
you ask why this is so ? Do you ask why these negroes are a 
finer group of negroes than many other groups of like people % 
It can be laid at the door of the college man who has come 
here from year to year working through the channels of the 
Y. M. C. A. to give these people the rudiments of education, 
the simple stories of the Bible, and a higher ideal of citizen- 
ship and civilization. 

For those who possibly do not know what the "Y" has been 
doing, I will try to give a little history just here. Eight years 
ago a student conceived the idea that the University, as an 
organization that stands for all that is high and noble, should 
help out suffering humanity under its very door through the 
organization of the Y. M. C. A. A man went out and broke 
the ice. He plead with those people, he was patient with 
them, and by his clear-headedness and diplomacy was enabled 
to start, a night school out in the negro district. The work has 
gone on gradually up until now. 



214 The Magazine 

If conditions were normal there would be going on out 
there now, a night school held three or four nights in the 
week. On Sunday afternoon a college student would be in 
the Sunday school with those people, not running the school 
himself, but making them do so and helping them in any way 
possible. Our time could not possibly be too valuable for 
such a work. There would be, also, a negro Y. M. C. A. do- 
ing work regularly. The fact is that the Y. M. C. A. is still 
an organization but is inactive at the present time. This is 
a self-supporting organization. An organization in which 
the young men and old have a vast deal of interest. Also 
there is held on the Campus what is known as the "Janitor's 
Club/' taught by the Secretary of the Y. M. C. A. There can 
be no reason for pessimism when it comes to mind that these 
janitors go to a certain designated place of meeting on every 
Sunday morning, really discomforting themselves at times 
to get there, listening and making an effort at absorbing 
something. 

All the immediate above is in the Negro Department of the 
Y. M. C. A. and is being neglected this year, not on account 
of the college but due to outside circumstances that exist that 
have made it impossible to hold all these organizations intact, 
but these things are on the program of the Negro Department 
and they will be reestablished soon. 

Do you ask what is being taught them ? Not the often mis- 
conceived idea that the negroes are being trained to be the 
equals of the whites. Not that at all, but it is the effort of 
the workers to make them have the spirit of working their 
very best at all times. They are taught how to write their 
names, how to add simple problems, and how to spell a few 
easy words. They are catching the idea of trying to be real 
men and women. 

African Orange County has responded, and the challenge 
is still on us as a college organization. The efforts have not 
been in vain. 



The Magazine 215 



Cfte Jfaitftful dinger anO tyi% %m% 

A. N. Johnson 

PREFACE 

"The Faithful Singer and His Song," an address prepared by "Dean 
Johnson" for one of his own audiences, fell into my hands, through the 
Y. M. C. A., to be typed. It occurred to me that it would be a matter 
of interest for our university students to see how well this "Venerable 
Old Dean," "Med Assistant," janitor, and well-wisher to all that the 
student body holds at heart, had written his essay. I have not changed 
it except for punctuation. The composition, vocabulary, and spelling 
are entirely his own. 

Most all of us know the "Dean" ; for those of us who do not, I would 
say that he is of the type that is now so fast disappearing from among 
us — the good-natured, humble, and sensible type of the "old school of 
the Southern darkey gentleman." 

Both in the title and in the essence of his essay I find a humble 
and lovely message of the Christ-life that rings true in spite of 
"twentieth century scientific enlargements." 

J. S. Moore. 

Music assists in religious work, first, by preparing the 
hearer nervously and physically for the emotions to be 
aroused by the address ; second, by stimulating the nervous 
action produced by emotions already secured, and so increas- 
ing their power over the volitions ; third, by satisfying the 
nerves and the mind by a musical expression corresponding 
to the nervous impression made by the emotions of the mind ; 
fourth, by assisting in the awakening of emotions connected 
with natural interests and affections which shall then be 
transferred to and associated with spiritual ideas and objects. 
Church music is an applied art. In pursuing our study of 
the character of church music let me further remark that 
while it is still musical art, it is art with a purpose. That 
purpose is so lofty and so urgent that it becomes the controll- 
ing factor in the combination, and dominates the whole form, 
character, and contents of the music used. 



216 The Magazine 

A hymn was sung at the Lord's first supper. The early 
Christians were commanded by Paul to use hymns and 
psalms and spiritual songs in speaking one to another; they 
are admonished to use them in admonishing one another. It 
is a significant fact that the great hymns of the Christian 
Church are rarely sectarian. It would seem that the nar- 
rowing sympathies of sect take flight while the hymn writer 
is committing his thoughts to paper. What is it then ? 

I will pray with the spirit, and I will pray with the under- 
standing, also; I will sing with the spirit, and I will sing 
with the understanding also. Yet in the church I had rather 
speak five words with my understanding that by my voice I 
might teach others also than ten thousand words in an un- 
known tongue. These are the words of St. Paul as found in 
Cor. I, verses 14 to 19. 

In the year 1898, when Prof. H. Barbee, Carlton, Davis 
organized a New Hope Musical Convention. The purpose of 
this musical convention is that all shall sing with the spirit 
and also with the understanding. The teachers must not 
allow themselves to be too much influenced by the "Old 
Granny" traditions of teaching ; it is erroneous to teach that 
pupils should not practice reading or singing in the different 
keys until they have been taught the structure of the keys 
and the theory of the changes required in the different nota- 
tions. Pupils can get used to reading in the keys just as well 
without explaining the formation of the keys as with the ex- 
planation, and when the time for explanation comes they will 
understand it all the better on account of the practice they 
have had. 

The subject is here introduced as an incidental. In later 
lessons it will be taken up as an essential item of instruction 
and will be treated in full. 

Then said I, Lo ! I come (in the volume of the book it is 
written of me) to do thy will, O God. Hebrews 10, 7. 



The Magazine 217 

It requires faithfulness to do this. In song service see 
Him as a witness. Hear St. John in the seventh chapter; 
Learn to sing about Him ; learn to talk about Him ; learn to 
walk with Him. And David said: Blessed are the people 
that know the joyful sound; they shall walk in the light of 
thy countenance. In thy name shall they rejoice, and in thy 
righteousness shall they be exalted. 

Sister Lena Johnson, who passed out of this world in Jan- 
uary, was one of the faithful singers. She would very often 
say to me, "John, sing my song." It runs : 

I have heard of a dwelling place 

And of mansions fair to see, 
Where there's room for all who are saved by grace, 

And there's room up there for me. 

Chorus : 

There's room for you, 

There's room for me, 

There's room for all, 

And there's room enough for me. 

In the controlling factor of the church music is help and 
edification. Then the mental, moral, and religious condition 
of those to be edified and helped becomes an essential element 
in its development and application. One of the most difficult 
phases of this adaptation is the relation that the work of the 
church includes. Every creature must reach and help with 
its music, not only the cultivated and artistic but the rude 
and uneducated as well. Music is the least selfish of all the 
arts, and is, therefore, the most altruistic. Men will always 
divide into groups according to their differences of opinion, 
but music, by acting through the feelings instead of the in- 
tellect, becomes a bond of union between all classes of people. 
I have often heard Rev. Dunstan say, "Turn to ~No. 44, and 
everybody join in the singing. 



218 The Magazine 

"Since your childhood you have heard the wondrous story 
of the Christ who gave His life on Calvary's tree; how for 
you He left His Father's home in glory, bore the cross that 
you from sin might be made free. 

"Do you know Him? Do you know my Savior? Do you 
know His wondrous love and mighty power? If you knew 
Him as I know Him you would make my Savior your Savior 
this very hour." 

Rev. Dunstan stood as a living witness and testified faith- 
fully, "I know Him." To know Him is to serve Him faith- 
fully. 

The choir singer did not appear in the church of New 
England until about 1750. It is related that in 1777 the 
Congregational Church of Worcester, Mass., voted in favor 
of a choir, and decided that the choir should occupy the first 
seats of the gallery. The Deacon who had been lining out the 
hymns Sunday after Sunday began as usual on the day that 
the New Order was to go into effect, but the choir sang con- 
tinuously from start to finish and drowned him out. Find- 
ing himself hopelessly beaten, he took his hat and went out 
of the house in tears. 

The New Regime brought frequent disagreements between 
minister and choir. The former was sometimes at fault be- 
cause of his ignorance of and contempt for musical theory. 
The Deacon should have been faithful to the end, singing : 

When we walk with the Lord in the light of His word, 

What a glory He sheds on our way ! 
While we do His good will, He abides with us still, 

And with all who will trust and obey. 

Trust and obey, for there's no other way, 

To be happy in Jesus but to trust and obey. 

It is said : Be thou faithful unto death and I will give thee 
a crown of life. 



The Magazine 219 

Music is wonderfully effective as a reformatory agent. The 
song will make the singer better even if only for a short 
while. This becoming better is more spiritual and more last- 
ing than mere reading of the poem. In the Old Testament 
we read how David when a youth soothed the crazy king with 
his harp and his song. 

So, brother teachers and friends, let this be our song : 

Blessed assurance, Jesus is mine! 
O, what a foretaste of glory divine ! 
Heir of salvation, purchase of God, 
Born of His spirit, washed in His blood. 

Chorus : 

This is my story, this is my song, 
Praising my Savior all the day long. 
This is my story, this is my song, 
Praising my Savior all the day long. 

The child is put to sleep with a lullaby. The soldier is 
worked up to a fighting pitch by a martial air. The wor- 
shiping congregation is exalted by the spiritual hymn. The 
man who toils with brain or muscle is refreshed by lively 
music. The patients who need to be put to sleep at the close 
of the day are put to sleep by music. It is much better than 
a drug because it produces a natural sleep. Sleeplessness 
yields to well chosen music when it can not be overcome by 
any other form of treatment. There is no form of insanity 
that has not at one time or another given way to music. In 
fact, some enthusiastic persons say that music will even pro- 
mote the healing of diseased tissues, but the music given in 
hospitals must be carefully chosen. So also must the per- 
former be chosen with care. Otherwise music does more 
harm than good. 

Now, my friends, look well to faithful singing. See to it 
that your songs will help some one go to glory. Sing songs 



220 The Magazine 

that have helped the crazy and have soothed the sick, and you 
will prove yourself worthy of the vocation wherein you are 
called. 

Let all of you stand and join in the song: 

When my soul is singing in that promised land above, 

I'll he satisfied, 
Praising Christ, the Savior, for redeeming love, 

I'll be satisfied. 

Chorus : 

I'll be satisfied, 

I'll be satisfied, 

When my soul is resting in that promised land above, 

I'll be satisfied. 

Living in a city where the soul shall never die, 

I'll be satisfied, 
There to meet with loved ones never more to say good-bye, 

I'll be satisfied. 

Chorus : 



The Magazine 221 



a 15ag of ©toag 

Le Gette Beythe 

A sickening, sallow moon sent a single ghastly ray down 
into the corner just across the street from the solitary gas 
lamp. The night cop was on his joh — dozing in the doorway 
of the store diagonally opposite. He did not see the two fig- 
ures huddled together in the corner where the moonbeam 
weakly penetrated. 

"Jim, it's a tough job, I tell you. You gotta spunk up 
and git yo' old nerve back !" the first figure muttered sharply. 

"Well, ain't I always had it when the time came to do the 
job? Where's all yo' guts yo'self ?" the other replied. 

"Say, now, pard, slack up a little. Course yo'll be there 
when it's pulled off. But yo' see it's such a rough, devilish 
job to get off with that we gotta keep ready. To-morrow 
night at two bells she goes or we string. Git me, pard ?" 

"Aw, I get you all right, but it's not so bad as you are 
lay in' for. Why, that First National " 

"But," interjected the other fellow, "the job on our hands 
is like a she-bear to a baby doll to that little haul. We gotta 
keep mum and she'll blow O. K. Fifty-fifty, and Pullman 
berths and high class hash houses and — well, to-morrow night 
at two." 

And with that final injunction he slid into the shadows. 
The fellow called "Jim" eased off across the street, dashed 
under the light, and was gone. 

In the darkening twilight the streets were crowded with 
home-going shoppers and workers, so that no suspicion was 



222 The Magazine 

aroused when two checker-suited, striped-socks individuals 
met, exchanged greetings, and walked off toward a quiet seat 
in the park nearby. 

"Say, Jim." It was the first speaker again. He seemed to 
be the self-appointed leader of the two. "What yo' reckon ? 
The blame place is guarded to beat a powder plant in war 
time. I been over there to-day an' saw four guards hangin' 
'roun'. They're doubled after dark." There was a meaning 
glance on his sinister face, and as he turned, the livid hue of a 
jagged scar showed over his right eye. He bent over and 
whispered : "You gotta get 'em and yo' know how." He 
cast a furtive glance around, and seeing no one, reached into 
his inner overcoat pocket and drew therefrom a long, slender 
blade of polished steel. "Get me?" he whispered as he 
handed it to his pard. 

"I compre," the latter returned, concealing the weapon on 
his person. 

"Now, listen," began the first speaker. "They are posted 
about fifty feet apart, all on different sides of the building. 
There's where you come in. I'm goin' to slip in if I can, 
but yo' gotta git that first man and git him clean, so's he won't 
chirp up an' let the other birds into the game. Maybe you'll 
hafter put another one to sleep, I can't tell. You see the 
idea. You stay outside an' fix me the way, an' I'll collect 
the plunkety stuff. See, Kid ?" 

The other replied with a nod and a grunt, and the two got 
up, stretched, and with a final "Two's the dope, old pard," 
by the leader, they separated. 

The town clock had struck the two o'clock hour just five 
minues before. A passerby, chancing along B Street, if he 
were of a peering disposition, would probably have noticed a 
mass of garbage that the carrier had failed to remove from 
the dark fence corner in that vicinity. The town was lax in 



The Magazine 223 

this matter, you know, and it should be looked into. But it 
was none of his business, anyhow, and so he passes by un- 
heeding. But a more close observer would find, if he looked 
into the matter, that it had only recently been placed there. 
In fact, it had lain there for only two or three minutes. "It" 
was the dead body of one of the guards. There was a long 
slit in his coat on the left side about eight inches below the 
shoulder. 

If the pedestrian had continued his observations he would 
also have seen a garbage can that had only recently been 
placed in a nearby fence corner. Jim was good at camou- 
flaging. 

They had pulled it off thus far according to plans. The 
two desperadoes had met at two o'clock, the cat-like Jim had 
slipped up in the darkness to the guard and had driven home 
his steel, and the leader had entered and was in the very act 
of robbery while his pal watched on the outside. 

The man on the inside worked nervously. If only he could 
get out after rounding up his haul ! Would the other guards 
not get the drift in time \ He reasoned quickly as he dashed 
along to the innermost place where it was secured. Madly he 
began drilling an entrance into the safe. If Jim would only 
keep them off until he could secure the loot and get out ! It 
was maddening ! Wouldn't the drill ever break through the 
hard steel ? His hand shook. Was he losing his nerve ? 

The safe yielded ! There was the treasure in easy reach. 
The other guards were calmly walking their posts. They 
hadn't heard. He would get out ! 

"Gosh !" exclaimed Tom, as he walked out of the henhouse 
with the egg 7 "what if that blamed old hen had pecked me ?" 



224 The Magazine 

6©arc|) 

Ewart W. G. Huffman 

The ghastly days are quickly passing by ; 
Soon little fays will choir again their notes 
And chat and twitter softly on the oaks, 

Ere they are decked with leaves innumerably. 

The days of anxious waiting 'gin to die, 

While hours of sore distress and grief-clogged throats 
Have disappeared and happiness denotes 

The tick-tock of the time — sweet liberty ! 

The chills, the leadened skies, the cozy creeks 
Have melted ; woodlands gaunt of sombre hue, 
Though ragged, yet are filled with spring's imbue 

Of life and love. All hail, old world, Pan speaks 
And all the woodland groves are instantly 
Befitted with new life and melody ! 



John B. Steatton 

I 

There's not a word your lips have breathed, 

A look your eyes have given, 
That is not shrined within my heart 

As treasures sent from Heaven. 

II 

Whene'er I catch the breath of flowers, 

Or music from the sea, 
Thought wings her way to distant bowers, 

And memory clings to thee! 



The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 

The Magazine, University of North Carolina, is published by the 
Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. Its object is to gather 
together what is best in the literary life of the students and give ex- 
pression to it. 

EDITORIAL STAFF 

J. P. Washburn, Phi Editor-in-Chief 

T. C. Wolfe, Di Assistant Editor-in-Chief 

ASSISTANT EDITORS 

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W. Le G. Blythe, Di. J. H. Kerr, Jr., Phi. 

W. B. Womble, Phi. 

MANAGERS 



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ASSOCIATION 

What does it mean, fellows, to have the continual comrade- 
ship of a good friend? What does it mean to have under- 
standings with a roommate or some other person with whom 
we come in contact ? It should mean a great deal and if we 
only stop and think for a minute, we know that it does mean 
more than we had dreamed of. Imagine yourself without 
your hest friend on the campus, your best girl, or your best 
friend in the world. Even with the imagination one can 
make himself feel "blue." 



226 The Magazine 

One trouble with us is that we don't appreciate the asso- 
ciation we do have. We don't gain from our friends all that 
we should and well could. We must make it mean more if 
we are to live on the campus together and enjoy to the fullest 
our four years' stop here. 

At a recent smoker, called the Good-Fellowship Smoker of 
the Junior class, every Junior present, and most of them were 
there, will tell you that that smoker was the best he ever at- 
tended. Really it was a good fellowship smoker and all the 
fellows felt better after it. The class of '21 or of any other 
year, to make itself felt here, must join together and stick 
together for the common good and the good of Carolina. 

At the recent World Student Volunteer Conference at 
Des Moines, many of the students there will tell you that they 
gained most from that Conference by the association with 
other people. The college gained by having representatives 
who came in contact with representatives from other colleges. 
We are known better by other colleges and we know them 
better just by association. Much as we loved our sister col- 
lege, "N. C. C, before, now we are closer as sister and brother 
just from association. Fellows, much of our education is 
gained by the association we keep. Let's watch it ! 



MR. FRESHMAN 

Now, Mr. Freshman, you have been with us almost a year. 
You have a desire by this time to help make the University a 
place where there is always a breath of freedom in the air; 
where all men, classes and beliefs are welcome, and where one 
may rise in earnest striving by the might of his own merit. 
You have learned by this time that wealth is nothing to be 
ashamed of and poverty no disgrace ; that it is a place where 
a common ideal of all is put before the selfish desires of a 
few. You have learned that we have a spirit here that we 



The Magazine 227 

cherish, a spirit that we can not define, but it is something 
that we are merely conscious of. Sometimes that spirit 
reaches a very low ebb. You wonder if it is a dream rather 
than a reality. Well, when such a situation arises, stop a 
moment and analyze yourself. See if you are there with 
your part. After all, it's an individual proposition, isn't it ? 
Grow yourself, and in doing so you will grow Carolina. 



WHAT ABOUT OUR TEACHERS? 

Education is of more vital importance to the country now 
than ever before, yet the latest available figures furnished by 
the National Education Association show that the average 
American gets less than a sixth grade education in a 200-day 
school year. Another important fact concerning the status 
of our public education is that only 9,500 teachers graduated 
from our training schools in 1919 as compared to 14,921 in 
1917. 

There is no mystery in the fact that fewer persons are will- 
ing to enter the teaching profession. We have been expecting 
the highest order of service for the lowest possible cost, as is 
evidenced by the fact that, according to the latest available 
figures, $342.00 was the average salary for teachers in the 
South Atlantic States, and North Carolina was even below 
this average. 

And how does North Carolina compare with the other 
states in regard to our expenditures for public education ? 
We pay less taxes per capita for state support than any other 
state in the Union with the exception of South Carolina. The 
amount paid for this state support is $2.22, of which 68 cents 
goes to education, or only 34.6 per cent of the taxpayer's 
dollar. 

These figures, while they only give a glimpse of the real 
situation, are sufficient to show that we need more and better 



228 The Magazine 

teachers for our public schools. However, it is unreasonable 
to suppose that we can attract good teachers for starvation 
wages. One city in the state has contracted for a schoolhouse 
to cost $390,000, yet what will this fine structure be worth 
without teachers of the right type in its halls ? Our path is 
clear. Pay the teachers a living salary, and the serious prob- 
lem of better education in North Carolina will be materially 
lessened. 



WHO CAN DEFINE CAROLINA SPIRIT? 

Who has ever defined that intangible thing called spirit? 
And who ever will? At least we hope it will never be de- 
fined, because once it is done it will lose that fine, mysterious 
sense. And as long as it keeps its mystery men are willing 
to be guided by it. 

Every great and lasting event had its origin in the spirit 
of its leaders. Men, money, and ships were not alone respon- 
sible for the discovery of America. Many times the follow- 
ers of Columbus urged him to turn back, but that brave spirit 
bade him go on. The settlers of America, who came here to 
escape religious persecution, faced trials and tribulations 
which only a dauntless spirit could bear. The heroes of the 
American Revolution established an immortal heritage to 
their posterity, because they had an unquieted spirit for 
freedom. 

Who will deny that the fine spirit shown by Abraham Lin- 
coln in the Civil War was not his greatest contribution to 
mankind? In modern times that same old spirit is helping 
to shape the affairs of nations. The success of the League of 
Nations does not depend on the number or kind of reserva- 
tions. If the people of the world are heart and soul for a 
League, then all the reactionaries in the world cannot with- 
stand their spirit. 



The Magazine 229 

Imagine the University without the Carolina Spirit. What 
would our century-old buildings, our campus, and our tradi- 
tions mean to us if there were not a fine spirit connected with 
them ? And it was this same spirit that led Carolina sons to 
Flanders fields. Carolina athletes could not fight unless they 
knew the spirit of the student body was behind them. 

Therefore, if our great accomplishments are dependent on 
the spirit in which they are done, why should we trouble with 
defining it? Let us preserve its mystery. The big things 
are those which are hardest to understand. Let the spirit 
surge on. 



230 The Magazine 



detracts from a Dtatp 

H. G. West 

Friday, July 4, 1919. 

3 :00 A. M. — I have been rolling and tumbling in my bed 
(an hour, the many sights of the day keep crowding in, 
and this heat. Doesn't it even break in the early morning 
hours ? Is that Italian mother still rocking her baby on the 
curb ? Sleep is impossible, yet I'm so tired, and this heat — 
always rising, rising from the pavement, from everywhere, 
and no breeze. 

Such a day ! My first trip to Brooklyn. The boys in the 
clubhouse, the big auto race at Sheepshead Bay ! " Tumble 
In," a comedy such as only Mary Roberts Khinehardt could 
write. But that Italian mother; the men sleeping on the 
monument ! 

After the show three of us — already very tired from the 
many activities of the day — started for "the East Side." By 
surface and "L" cars we somehow found ourselves on Mott 
Street. Could this be the famous Chinatown we had heard 
so much of all our lives ? Where were the opium joints ? No 
Chop Suey signs ! A Chink or two sat on his step — fanning 
himself with his hat. They were dressed simply in some- 
thing black, no oriental colors were to be seen, and only a 
few pig-tails ! The lights were dim and far between ; the 
streets rough, the shops dingy and old and crowded, and al- 
ways the heat — it was closer here even than in the theatre 
crowds. 

A shop window attracted us — silk bags, handkerchiefs, 
dressing gowns, slippers. We went in. The shopkeepers 
looked at us and then at each other. "Some of those ever- 



The Magazine 231 

lasting sightseers. Velly well, they can pay accordingly." 
Their English was very good, especially when speaking in 
terms of American money. We priced his wares and went 
on. We had heard and now believed that the Chinatown of 
six years before was now only a name. Very tired, very hot, 
we started for a car. But which way ? 

"Oriental Restaurant !" At last what we were looking for. 
We forgot the heat and our being tired. There they sat in 
their native costumes — peoples of most every race. Weird 
music was coming from somewhere. To enter it was neces- 
sary to go down a flight of steps. Before we were half down 
the door was filled with men — big fair-haired Hungarians, 
small dark Italians — men of all kinds protesting against our 
butting in on them and their women folk. Entry was im- 
possible, so, disappointed, we went on. 

Such streets — dirty, paper everywhere, no lights to speak 
of, the pavement broken and rough. An occasional police- 
man leaning idly on a lamp post. The "L" was always just 
a block or two straight ahead. There in a very dark entry 
was a group of men and boys, speaking a jargon of what-not, 
then a cannon cracker exploded, and a string of curses. The 
4th of July ! 

Two men were sleeping on a doorstep. One moans and 
stretches his stiffened limbs. A clock somewhere strikes one. 
A gay quilt attracts our attention, and on looking up we see 
on many fire escapes people trying to sleep, anything, any- 
where to get away from the heat. 

Finally we reached a cross street, well lighted. The 
screams of small foreign children at play at one in the morn- 
ing! Fat mothers in the doorway, always with their arms 
full of children. Other mothers rocking a crib on the curb, 
always fanning. The heat, will it never break ? 

"Come in and Rest" read the sign. Here at last was one 
of the things we had always heard of. The keeper was old 



232 The Magazine 

and fat and gray, and very kind-hearted. The room was 
dark, but we could see rows of hard wooden benches, and 
men — big, rough, unshaven, poorly dressed — had obeyed the 
sign, "Come In," and were at least trying to rest. "It is this 
way every night," the keeper declared. "Some of them have 
nowhere else to go." 

We had seen enough. We had started out light-hearted, 
even if tired, now our feelings were more in keeping. It 
was the night of July 4th — to us it had meant sight-seeing, 
pleasure, with little thought of what the day really stood for. 
To them it had meant suffering from the heat, always the 
heat, cannon crackers, and no work because it was the Amer- 
ican 4th of July, whatever that might be. 

At last the "L" ! We wondered what it all meant anyhow 
— America and her 4th of July — had she anything to offer 
them ? Where could a beginning be made ? The morning 
papers were already on sale. The list of dead — from the 
heat — was nearly a column on the front page — fell from a 
fire escape, run over on the curb while trying to get cool and 
sleep — perhaps some of the ones we had passed an hour or 
two before. So much like animals ! At last a breeze, and 
perhaps sleep for them and us. 



The Magazine 233 



Realities or Dreams 

Walter E. Wiles 

It was an evening in October. I sat late in my study, 
struggling long over antique legends, gleaning from philos- 
ophy that had been penned in unknown tongues, by unknown 
hands. At my elbow sat a half-consumed bottle of Madeira. 
It was awaiting its turn to join its companions that had gone 
before. The clock hand pointed to twelve. The air suddenly 
grew dense, and my eyelids drooped. I was conscious of an 
uncanny odor that pervaded the room. With an effort, I rose 
and went to the window; but it was already open, and no 
breeze stirred the leaden air. I returned to the center of the 
room, sank down in a chair and buried my face in my hands. 
Suddenly, the sensation left me. I raised my head and 
opened my eyes, but I did not recognize my surroundings. I 
saw that I had been transferred into a strange room. This 
room was furnished in sable. The table and chairs were of 
ebony. The walls and draperies were as jet as a funeral pall. 
I tried to recall to my mind some recognition of these strange 
surroundings, but it was of no avail. 

As I sat thus wondering, the inky portals at the rear of the 
room were drawn apart with noiseless touch, and a dark 
shadow floated in without a sound. Shall I call it a shadow 
or a cloud ? Truly, I know not. Be it as it may, it gently 
came on the wings of the silent air. At first, it was no larger 
than my hand, and with the semblance of some hellish vapor 
from the Stygian pool. As the weird light, which flooded 
the room from some unknown source, fell upon it, it seemed 
to reflect an unholy gleam. Guided silently by some unseen 



234 The Magazine 

power, or floating as the buoyant clouds, it moved to the cen- 
ter of the room and settled on the floor. There, boiling like 
some fortitudinous gas, its fumes rolled up in long waves 
until they filled half the room with a dark, grey, impenetrable 
gloom. A cold breeze swept through the chamber, and the 
sizzling vapors were blown away. Then all was quiet, and 
standing where the little cloud had rested was the tall form 
of a woman clad in immaculate robes. I sat for a moment 
stupefied. Then, "Who art thou, damned vision?" I asked. 
"Who art thou, and by what right dost thou, or those that sent 
thee, dare to snatch me from my sanctum of sanctums to this 
nameless abode of the damned ?" Then, it raised a long white 
arm, and, as it pointed its finger at me, I sank lower in my 
chair with a sensation of eeriness. Slowly, it began to speak. 
"Know thou, that I am Psyche, thy soul, and my mission is 
none less than the cause of that which is my own. Of late, 
thou hast forgotten me. With thine insatiable thirst to dig 
into the depths of a recondite philosophy, and with thy re- 
sistless yearnings, abstruse sciences, and esoteric theories, 
thou hast slain me, thy better self. Thou hast achieved the 
goal of thy youth ; but, when it was reached, others were set, 
and these in their turn were reached and passed. Again, 
others were set. Contentment has known no place in thy 
heart. Thus, thou hast dried up the fountainhead that should 
have been the source of my glory. Thou hast denied me, 
thine own. Know thou, that the contented beggar is more 
lord than thee. From this day, thou shalt be alive, but not 
thyself; living, but not alive. Thou hast slain me." Thus 
speaking, she drew back her robes and bared her breast. Over 
her heart, a dagger was plunged to the hilt, while her breast 
was stained by the sanguine flow. There was a sudden trem- 
bling, as of an earthquake; then followed a jingling sound, 
as of many bells, and a confusion of voices. The vision faded, 
and I sank down still more, and covered my face with my 



The Magazine 235 

hands. Then, there came a sudden noise as that of a thun- 
derbolt. I took my hands from my face and opened my eyes. 
I found myself lying on a green sward. My clothes were wet 
with dew, and cold drops of sweat stood upon my brow. Ma- 
tuta was softly drawing apart her purple curtains, and Helios 
was mounting his fiery chariot. 

O Psyche ! Where art thou ? Canst thou ever return to 
me? 



236 The Magazine 



ffilfcp U3ot a platform for Class presiOenw? 

Anonymous 

There exists on this campus something, which for want of 
a hotter name I shall call "college fiction." Here in the shade 
of venerable oaks with the whole past of 125 years looming 
up behind us and glowering down on us, we try to continue 
to keep up certain forms and ideas which are obsolete and 
moss-grown and rickety and decrepit and other things which 
I shall not pause to mention. For instance : In the election of 
class presidents politics is not supposed to enter in or play 
any conspicuous part. Elect the best man, 1795 says, and 
let it be the sin unpardonable for him to openly solicit votes. 
1920 agrees to this without a murmur, and for all the world, 
(I'm speaking technically and on paper and otherwise not 
strongly) there's no active play of politics on this campus. A 
stranger could walk across the campus, and the chances are 
that he'd never suspect that he was treading in a political 
hot-bed. He might sigh — big-hearted, open-faced people al- 
ways sigh — about the freedom and what a supremely vibrant 
force the Carolina spirit really is — but as usual, he would 
see only the visible around him. 

What are the actualities and realities of the game ? How 
did it happen that so-and-so was nominated for 16th assistant 
water-carrier to the Horseshoe Team, and while violently 
supported by 18 men on the three back rows failed to pull a 
vote on the sides where sat the "uninitiated" ? I think with- 
out going further we can deduce a fact which we all know to 
be a fact — and yet we don't like to just come out and admit 
it fully : politics are not foreign "ticks" on this campus. The 
man who spouts the loudest about "The old pep, fellows," 



The Magazine 237 

and "What we must do to back the team" probably sat up till 
2 :00 A. M. the night before taking inventory of his strength 
and discussing with "the faithful" his chance to get the other 
fellow to withdraw from the race. None, except he himself 
be a politician, will deny the part that politics play in the 
class and other elections in this college. 

This brings us to the point we have been striving through 
all the foregoing paragraphs to reach, namely — if we are to 
have politics, why not have politics openly in so far as is pos- 
sible, and let each candidate announce his platform, and on 
its merits solicit the votes of his fellow students? An ex- 
ample may help to make my meaning more clear : 

Vote for Napoleon Ridpath 
For Senior Class President 

A fighter for Class Ideals and all other Campus Bunk. 

Was for two years Class Historian, an office which he filled 

with great efficiency. In soliciting your votes he 

does so with the understanding that if 

elected he will: 

(a) Disgust his former tolerators. 

(b) Take on a paternal attitude towards all Freshmen. 

(c) Become a "conservative thinker" and look wise. 

These are only suggested as tentative planks for the future 
platforms of future candidates who try to get their nomina- 
tions "recanted." At least the truth won't do any serious 
hurt. 



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The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 
Old Series Vol. 50 Numbeb 5 New Series Vol. 37 



Contenw 

PAGE 

Welcome to President Chase 241 

Summer (Poem). E. W. G. Huffman 243 

The Essential Foundations of World Peace. D. B. 

Hodgin 244 

Vers Libre. D. Beid Hodgin 250 

Concerning Honest Bob (Play). T. C. Wolfe 251 

Wings That Failed. C. J. Parker, Jr. 262 

Trente Ans (Poem). ...Jesse M. Bobbins 266 

Integration of Student Life. John H. Kerr, Jr 267 

Radicalism and America. George W. McCoy 274 

A Drama. LeGette Blythe 277 

The Lecture Course. William E. Horner 280 

The Veto Power. P. A. Beavis, Jr 284 

Apprenticeship in Literature. W. E. Price 286 

Editorials 288 

The Inauguration and its Significance. Phillip 

Hettleman : 293 

Dangers of Modern Efficiency. W. P. Hudson 295 

A Senior's Last Reverie. D. D. Topping 298 

Agnostic. D. B. Hodgin 300 



One More Welcome to President Chase 
Upon His Inauguration 



OU have been right heartily welcomed of late, Presi- 
dent Chase, and to so many burdens. 

The sheer volume of them may well have over- 
taxed our already excited imaginations. 

You were urged to stimulate scholarship: all 
kinds — alike the divine but tenuous flame of research and 
the pump-it-in-pump-it-out of the Freshman sections. 

You were admonished to uphold ideals: the broader citizen- 
ship, the wider service, and — or does our heated fancy 
supply this? — the higher morality; the still broader citizen- 
ship, the still wider service, the still higher morality — ever 
broader, wider, and higher until these expansive virtues defy 
further definition by any but the practiced vates of social 
uplift. 

You were invited to draw within the scope of the Uni- 
versity's activities the affairs of the great Commonwealth of 
North Carolina, "from the mountains to the sea" — first in 
tobacco, farthest in water power, and last in appropriations 
for public schools. 

You were charged to focus the University's teaching and 
investigating power upon the plight of an overrich nation 
more than usually rent by the conflict between those who 
have too much wealth and those who have none at all — be- 
tween the workman and those who work for him. 

Finally, you were called upon to implant here the spirit 
that alone can aid in rehabilitating a phoenix world arising 
from its ashes. 

These are matters too lofty for ordinary conversation. 
They. should be sung, chanted, or, at least, intoned. And 
ours is not the gift of song. If we may indulge in a moment's 
relaxation from assuming the manner of those whose duty it 
is to prepare the inaugural sacrifice we would summarize 
these items by saying that they constitute "some" welcome. 

President Chase, we started with the fixed intention of not 
adding one featherweight to this staggering load of ad- 
monishments. But the inexorable spirit of the inaugural 
occasion has rapt us away. We are but human. Here goes 
for one more welcome! We would not disappoint you, though. 
We cannot hail you as did the Princes, Potentates, and 
Powers of Higher Education. We cannot welcome you to 
such brilliant prospects. They are beyond our full com- 
prehension. We leave them to those who command the un- 
bounded horizons. Ours is the narrower and more inten- 
sive field — the campus. 

From its limited confines we gaze upward along the vast 
superstructure of the University's extra-mural obligations. 



We do not question them; we do not doubt that they are for 
the best. There they are, and we must shoulder them. In 
that spirit we gird our loyal loins and cast about for means 
that will enable us to support the load above. 

The fruits of our reckoning we present to you according to 
the "welcome" formula. We welcome you, Sir, to the "op- 
portunity" of tightening up the mental drill and discipline of 
our student body. Not that our students are behind those 
of other institutions. From what we hear, the need of 
sterner mental exercise is nation wide. We have in mind a 
definite means for the desired end. It is more of the plain, 
old-fashiond pine-board-school education, without the 
shingles, of course, but with a plenty of the old-time subject- 
matter to sharpen our native wits upon — namely, syntax, 
paradigms, and equations. 

And the civic virtues? It is with our eyes turned in the 
direction of "the broader citizenship" and upon the rising 
citizenry that we declare our faith: Syntax, Sir, is citizen- 
ship. You have by now surmised that we would build civic 
virion upon individual mentality, and social service upon 
psrsonal character. With the utmost deference, Sir, we sub- 
mit that if the citizen have but enough sense and self- 
control the state is safe. 

Refreshed, we turn from yielding to the amiable weakness 
of the hour and take up a task that affords us unfeigned 
pleasure. 

We recall the warning you received that as President you 
would be expected to unite in your single person the facul- 
ties of sage and orator, legislator and executive, judge and 
executioner, diplomat and democrat, autocrat and beggar. 
President Chase, we should view with dismay this fearful 
wild-fowl. Your office may translate you. We prefer you 
as you are. Though it was as a stranger that you came 
among us, you became one of us. You understand our 
temperament; you voice our aspirations; you inspire our 
affectionate regard. With such a basis for our future re- 
lationship estrangements arising from inevitable differences 
of opinion are indeed remote. 

On the recent memorable occasion, we heard expressed 
from all quarters sentiments of personal esteem and loyal co- 
operation. It is our pleasant duty as a reflector of campus 
feeling to report that fact here. We believe that these senti- 
ments will remain throughout your administration as wide- 
spread as they are at present, and we trust that they will 
prove a stay and a comfort to you amid the welter of your 
opportunities. 

April 29, 1920. 



The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 
Old Series Vol. 50 Number 5 New Series Vol. 37 



Summer 

Ewaet W. G. Huffman 

I love to lie and idly dream 
By some far-off secluded stream, 
Where willows reach in lithe festoons, 
While blending rise a thousand tunes, 

From earth to sky — 

A summer melody. 

I love to dream, adrift, alone, 

While frogs croak loud their monotone, 

And all the world is well my home, 

When singing streams are decked with foam, 

And all is green, 

With hope serene. 

I love to watch the swirling rift 
Sway with the water's rush, 
While just above sweet medley's lift 
The luscious song of the hermit thrush, 

The king of spring 

And birds that sing. 

I love to muse when summer showers 

Kiss earth, and breathe sweet scents of flowers ; 

And e'er methinks, while here I stand, 

A spirit leads me to a land, 

A sapphire stream, 

To drink and dream! 



244 The Magazine 



Cfte essential jFotmDattons of COorlD Peace 

(Peace Oration) 

D. B. Hodgin 

The proposition is peace. It is Peace that we want — not 
ours for the asking, but for the making. 

Universal peace is a universal desire. Nations have not 
obtained it by working individually, and for self, alone. The 
only alternative is to cooperate, and to cooperate successfully 
means to unite. Men have long entertained the idea of a 
united world ; prophets have visioned a great world Federa- 
tion, governed by a Parliament of Man. This idea has grown, 
not only because it was good, but because it was practical 
and sound, and because it was the logical next step in the 
evolution of organized society. 

And so, as the great rock upon which to lay the founda- 
tions of world peace, we choose world unity, world federa- 
tion. It is not new. It is not a wild and chimerical dream. 
It is nothing more and it is nothing less than a tangible form 
of the idea of the brotherhood of all men, which has been 
preached for nineteen hundred years. 

Adopting the idea of a world federation in the interests of 
peace, we naturally turn to the past for light. If a given 
thing has succeeded in the past it is usually safe to assume 
that it will continue to be successful ; if it has failed, we look 
into the causes of its failure and attempt to eliminate them 
from our program for the future. Looking over history we 
find that there have been numerous varieties and degrees of 
international unions, alliances and leagues supposedly 



The Magazine 245 

formed as guaranties of peace. And they have always failed. 
Why ? If we would find the true answer it is necessary to 
examine into their nature. We find that the unions of the 
past have universally been drafted by governments, and have 
been signed without reference to, or consent of, the people 
who represented the security of the signatory power ; we find 
that former international agreements have provided for co- 
operation in war, almost never for the extension of peace; 
the nations have planned wars, but they have not planned to 
remove the causes of war ; they have bound themselves to go 
to war, almost never to keep the peace ; they have created the 
"balance of power" — a system to throw the scales of justice 
out of balance ; they have built up enormous armaments "to 
preserve the national safety," and yet the nations have never 
been safe; they have formed leagues to enforce peace, and 
they have only forced war upon themselves, and upon the 
innocent. And through it all they have sown armaments, 
economic barriers, suspicion, and bitter rivalry, and they 
have reaped hate, and blood, and tears. They have fought 
and killed, and after the killing was done their controversies 
have blazed forth as fiercely as before. Obviously, if we are 
to have peace, the policies of the past must be buried with the 
past. 

WE DO NOT WISH TO ABOLISH WAR. WE 
COULD NOT IF WE WOULD. IT IS PRACTICAL 
AND NECESSARY ONLY TO REMOVE THE 
CAUSES OF WAR. THIS DONE, IT WILL DIE 
FROM LACK OF ALIMENT. 

What are the causes of war? The Franco-Prussian war 
was not caused primarily by William I's supposed insult to 
the French ambassador. Neither, in the proper sense, was 
the murder of the Archduke Ferdinand the cause of the 
Great World War. These causes had their origin years and 
even hundreds of years before the actual outbreaks. They 



246 The Magazine 

are to be found in the established policies of international 
dealings. Some very evident causes of war have been secret 
treaties, large armaments, trade rivalry, over-population, 
ambitions of military men, and desire of governments to ex- 
tend their dominions. 

But back of all these recognized causes of war lies a habit 
of thought which has provided a fertile soil for them to grow 
in. Without the soil of narrow nationalism and national 
selfishness the roots of war would shrivel up and die. States- 
men and philosophers, pacifists and poets, have searched in 
vain for a mixture of existing elements out of which to con- 
struct a lasting peace. But the puzzle has never been com- 
pleted. One unknown element has been lacking always. Men 
of vision are coming to realize that this cementing factor is 
internationalism. The word "internationalism" is not re- 
ceived in the best society — no! It is outlawed. But this 
abhorrence is due not to the nature of the true thing itself, 
but to the habit of associating it with disreputable characters 
and ideas. It has to-day come to have a truer, finer meaning. 
The world is waking up to the fact that it is not made up of 
half a hundred, more or less, of nations, but of 1,200,000,000 
men, women, and children, made by the same Creator, hav- 
ing in common the powers of thought, reason and affection, 
ai.d approximately the same wants and needs. 

This exaggerated sense of nationalism has been created 
and propagated by governments, kings and feudal lords to 
insure the blind allegiance of their subjects and vassals. It 
is a relic of barbarism, and can have no place in the future 
democracy. It was based upon and maintained by keeping 
the people ignorant. But the people are learning to think 
for themselves. They will no longer let themselves be blind- 
ed by fal-e leaders ; they will no longer allow the "statesman- 
ship" of a Metternich or of a Bismarck to lead them astray. 



The Magazine 247 

The statesmen at the Congress of Vienna failed to recog- 
nize that the dynastic principle had been replaced by the 
nationalistic. They carved and portioned out the helpless 
peoples of Europe in their own way, and Europe has not 
known peace since that day. Are we, too, blind? Are we 
now going to ignore the fact that the nationalistic principle 
is giving way to new aims and ideals which intersect and 
absorb nationalities and political divisions ? It is evident 
that the people of the world are beginning to place their eco- 
nomic and social conditions first, and political and national- 
istic considerations second. The great masses in a country 
care little about the name of their government or the number 
of square miles it controls, provided they have bread to eat 
and freedom and peace in which to enjoy it. It isn't the 
people who fight over boundaries ; for they gain nothing by 
the addition of a few miles of territory. It isn't the people 
who put up great economic barriers, forcing up the prices of 
their own food and clothing. It is the "statesmen" who 
quibble and quarrel over these things. 

In the words of a writer of the day: "This diplomatic 
warfare is the objective of our new international organiza- 
tion. Upon diplomacy we can and must make a direct attack. 
If we can draw this monster's teeth, we shall no longer be 
troubled by its monstrous offspring, War" . . . This is 
the situation stated in a few words. Before any world union 
can succeed diplomatic trickery must be brought to an end. 
It is only a left-over from the Metternich theory: Keep the 
people divided, among themselves, and you can keep them 
united, under you. 

Our world federation then, must be a league of peoples, 
not merely an alliance of governments. When we have sub- 
stituted real people for the abstract idea of government that 
symbolizes them, we will find that they have no cause for 
quarrel ; no desire to bring aggressive war — and if there were 



248 The Magazine 

no aggressive wars there surely would never be cause for de- 
fensive war. Our federation must, therefore, realize that 
governments are only a means to an end ; that the happiness 
of the people is above the glory of their governors. 

Adopting the principle of unity and common interest of 
all nations, we see that no narrow settlement of present prob- 
lems, based on selfish nationalism, can have place in our pro- 
gram. Any union of nations in the interest of peace must 
fail if it attempts to exclude a particular group of nations. 
The outcasts will by instinct and of necessity join together in 
a union of their own making, resulting again in the old 
"balance-of -power" system which has in the past endeavored 
to maintain a hair-trigger sort of balance between war and 
peace, but has never succeeded, and can never succeed because 
it is based upon a fallacious principle. 

The ultimate security of peace rests in disarmament. It 
must be conceded that an unarmed man will never shoot any 
one, nor will an unarmed nation go to war. The recent war, 
we were assured, would be the last that man would ever have 
to endure. There would be no occasion in the future for 
armaments, and war taxes, and broken lives. Now if this 
war, this climax of world struggles, does not bring relief 
from the burden of armaments, no war ever can. ~No nation 
is to-day willing to lay down its arms. War has again failed 
to end war! Obviously, then, some other, some effective way 
must be found. We are indeed blind if the Great War has 
not taught us that it is DISARMAMENT, OK ETERNAL 
WAR; that it is UTOPIA OR HELL! 

But the problem of the present is, How shall we rid our- 
selves of this Frankenstein? The answer is, of course, diffi- 
cult. In the first place, we must desire to get rid of it. Then 
we must find something to take its place. A first positive step . 
should be the providing of this "moral equivalent." The 
people should exercise the war-declaring and war-making 



The Magazine 249 

power, rather than the government. The abolition of con- 
scription would be a natural result. Without conscription 
there could be no militarism; consequently little war and 
little need for armament. But what are we going to do about 
the ever-present probability of attack? Nations are still 
afraid, each of the other. They arm against a fear which 
may or may not have foundation in reason or fact ; but the 
armament, they say, is for defense. Is it really defense that 
is wanted ? Peace is eager to accept the challenge, for peace 
can provide a stronger line of defense than all the armies and 
navies in the world. TO BE PREPARED EOK PEACE 
IS THE MOST EFFECTUAL MEANS OF PREVENT- 
ING WAR. Proof ? It is everywhere. Take the price of 
one battleship ; spend it in true democratic propaganda 
among the Bolshevists of Russia and Germany, where civili- 
zation is to-day needing defense, and you will build the 
strongest, most impregnable entrenchments against anarchy 
and war that man can ever devise. 

This is not a dream of over-zealous political fanatics. It 
is a plan for action — NOW. It is not expected to bring 
about the Millenium. There are here suggested only the vital, 
necessary foundations of lasting peace. The principles in- 
volved are the principles upon which peace — if it be endur- 
ing — must be founded. It is not an armed peace. It is not 
the conventional powder-soaked peace of history. It is true 
peace. It is, let us say, with Burke, "a simple peace, sought 
in its natural course, and in its ordinary haunts. It is peace 
sought in the spirit of peace, and laid in principles purely 
pacific." 



250 The Magazine 



$er$ Lffire 

D. K.EID HoDGIN 

Vers Libre ! 

The Verse of Freedom ! 
Free as the wind 
That blows. 

Freedom 

In all things — 

The watchword of To-day. 

To-day. 

What will be the watchword 

Of To-morrow ? 

Ah ! Who knows ? 

Freedom ! 

Why not in verse, 

As all things else 

Within the ken of finite man ? 

Vers Libre has come to stay. 

It brings a freedom 

To the Mind, 

The Heart, 

The Soul, 

Of Man; 

Who longs for means to reach the minds, 

The hearts, 

The souls 

Of other men. 

I bow to thee, 
Vers Libre ! 



The Magazine 251 



Concerning J^onest 13ob 

T. C. Wolfe 

Persons of the Play 

A Sophomore Mr. Alf Cocksure 

A Graduate : Mr. Boise Useddit 

A Senior .Mr. Edward Wiseman 

A Junior Mr. Robert Goodman 

(Known to his admirers as "Honest Bob, the students' 
friend.' 7 ) 

(The curtain rises on the living-room of one of our sump- 
tuous two-room suites. The walls are garishly decorated 
with many colored pennants — showing a good eye for color 
but a bad one for selection. Elon, Guilford, and dear old 
Wake Forest are represented, to say nothing of one done in 
tinsel and gold of "Asheville — The Land of the Shy." Vari- 
ous rollicking college scenes of the vintage of 1892 are also 
here — a group of merry college youths with foaming steins, 
a bit of gentle horseplay with the Freshman (they are paint- 
ing the college colors on him) and finally a thrilling football 
landscape with the pigskin hero wearing shin and nose 
guards. Clippings from "The Cosmopolitan," "The Police 
Gazette" and "The Theater" give a modern touch to the 
room. Under a green lamp shade and on a pine table a 
Sophomore is writing — not a theme, we dare not accuse 
him — but to his latest amour. His reference book is a folded 
piece of pink paper, which he consults frequently. The 
Sophomore is the only dignified character in this play. A 
Senior and a graduate come in now and the Senior, contrary 



252 The Magazine 

to all precept, does not hole particularly dignified. His air 
is rather that of the blase man of the world, or better still, 
the air of one who has lived and suffered; a man who knows 
the vicissitudes of life and yet is determined to bear himself 
bravely through this vale of tears. The graduate is young 
at the business of being a graduate and his forced air of 
sophistication is rather pitiful. He is not a success.) 

The Senior. Hello— AH. 

The Soph. Come in, boys. 

(They come in and sit down.) 

The Senior. Who're you writing? 

The Soph (with great enthusiasm). The finest girl in — 

The Senior (cynically). Who is she this time? 

The Soph (turning a brick red). I'm with this girl to 
stay — why, listen to this letter — (He reads) : "And Alf, 
dearest boy, I think of you constantly day and night and 
wonder what you are doing. Dear boy, you don't know what 
high ambitions I have for you " 

The Graduate (interrupting with some wise sophistry). 
My dear fellow, the height of a girl's ambition is about six 
feet — 

The Sophomore (furiously). Is that so? — You clever 
devil, where'd you read that — in Snappy Stories? 

(The Grad. smiles tolerantly at him. The Senior shakes 
his head cynically at The Grad.) 

The Senior. What fools these Sophomores be ! 

The Soph (nervously — forgetting all the laws of hospi- 
tality). And what damn idiots these Seniors and Graduates 
be— Yah! 

The Senior (soothingly). To be sure, my boy, to be sure — 
Now go on and write your little letter. 

(But The Soph turns half away from the table and his 
visitors and sulks.) 



The Magazine 253 

The Senior {after a moment). Where's Honest Bob — 
the student's friend? 

The Soph. Politicing, I guess — You know spring elections 
come next week. 

The Graduate. You know, your undergraduate activities 
amuse me — campus politics — ha, ha ! — it's positively funny. 

The Soph {with irony). Go on and laugh — this is a place 
of amusement — Amuse you — ha, ha ! — I bet it was a serious 
enough business to you last year. 

The Senior (quickly). Not last year, Alf — you don't 
mean that. You know we Seniors never dabble in politics. 

The Soph. All right, my lily-white friend — when you were 
a Junior — then. 

The Senior (laughs slyly). That's the year, you remem- 
ber, you posed as the students' friend. 

The Graduate. That's been two years ago — you have no 
right to bring it up on me now — I was a mere boy. 

The Senior (musingly). This bug of politics is a funny 
proposition. It usually stings a Sophomore — in the spring 
a Sophomore's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of politics — 
witness our young friend over here who is a horrible exam- 
ple of what I mean. 

The Sophomore (angrily). Here, now, this is carrying a 
good thing too — 

The Senior (not noticing the interruption). The work of 
the Sophomore politician is crude at all times — it has not 
attained the finish and smoothness of our Junior friend ; the 
Sophomore laughs loudly at all his friends' jokes and he 
slaps them on the back with a patronizing, a Pretty good, old 
boy, pretty good !" It is the Sophomore who enters the class- 
room five minutes late that all may look and behold, the 
Sophomore who — 

The Soph. Look here — I don't do any of those things. 



254 The Magazine 

The Senior {soothingly). ~No, of course not, my young 
friend. You are the one outstanding exception. 

The Soph (bitterly). Your young friend! How old do 
they grow 'em where you come from ? But (with irony) rave 
on, Philosopher! 

The Senior. But the Junior — Ah ! there you have the 
graduate politician. He works in a quiet, unobtrusive way, 
and his virtues are extolled by his friends. He knows that 
it is best that his friends do the work — he sees the need of 
organization ; thus we have the first organization, known on 
the campus as the "Ring." The "Ring" works through the 
class quietly but surely, holding their candidate in the back- 
ground. In an atmosphere of mystery he shows up to best 
advantage. 

The Graduate (thoughtfully). Yes, that's true; you're 
right there. 

The Senior (significantly) . Of course, you ought to know 
— But to proceed: The Junior politician is a character of 
nobility; he is prompted always (it becomes known) by love 
for the "dear old University," and by his continual efforts 
"for the good of the Class" — as an example of what I mean 
(The door opens here and Bob Goodman, the Junior, comes 
into the room). Why, here he is now — Honest Bob, the stu- 
dents' friend — an example than which, I must say, there is 
none than whicher. 

Goodman (sullenly). At it again, I see. Can't you ever 
stay off of me with this stuff about my "politicing" ? That's 
something I've never done — 

The Senior (smiling). They all say that — and what's 
more, they all believe it — 

Goodman (in disgust). Aw, Hell! what's the use of try- 
ing to tell anything to a bunch like this! (To The Gradu- 
ate) Are you coming to the meeting of Sigma Omega to- 
night ? 



The Magazine 255 

The Graduate. No, of course not. We graduates are not 
interested in undergraduate organizations, you know. 

The Junior {with elaborate politeness). Oh, yes, to be 
sure, of course, I crave your pardon. I forgot you were no 
longer a boy like the rest of us — now that you have become 
a man, you have put away childish things — I understand; 
pardon me for suggesting it ! 

The Graduate. You know, your sarcasm doesn't affect 
me — I don't care for the opinion of other people any way — 
what they think of me makes no difference to me. 

The Junior {with an evil glitter in his eye) . Oh, is that 
so ? — Well, I always have thought you a damn fool. 

{A look of positive pain comes over The Graduate's face, 
mingled somewhat with astonishment.) What — you call me 
a fool — me! 

The Junior {calmly). Yes, you — you're the man I mean 
— I am pointing my finger right at you. 

Grad {hotly). Fool yourself — that's what you are. {Pas- 
sionately, as he warms to his subject) I leave it to the crowd 
here if I'm any bigger fool than you are — Why, I'll argue it 
out with you here and now and prove that you're a bigger 
fool than I am. {He is quite eloquent by now.) 

The Junior {with quiet triumph). Behold, gentlemen, 
the man who doesn't care for the opinion of others — look at 
him now — and a pretty sight he is. 

(The Graduate gets up, grabs his hat and angrily goes 
out of the room.) 

The Senior. You've got his goat now. 

The Junior. He'll recover. I've seen him like this before. 
Alf {to Soph), I'm going to shave, are your tools in the next 
room? 

Alf. Yeh — go to it. Have you been to the Gym yet? 

The Junior {as a train of gloomy thoughts are started). 
Yeh. I just came. 



256 The Magazine 

Alf. How are the showers ? 

The Junior (bitterly). Shower, Alf — not showers. This 
is a singular shower, a very singular shower. It has re- 
mained faithful to the student body all through its long life 
and now in its ripe old age some brutal master still works it 
overtime. Just think, Alf, what a tragedy it is — that poor 
old shower working that way in its declining old age. It 
makes me weep. 

The Soph (getting up) . Come on, Senior, let's go get the 
mail. There's nothing else to do. So long, Bob. (They go 
out) 

(The Junior goes into the next room and emerges pres- 
ently, coatless and collarless, with a shaving stick and a brush 
in his hand. He lathers his face. He goes bach into the sec- 
ond room swinging door behind him. Steps are heard out- 
side. Enter two classmates — typical campaign managers 
now (we have them yearly) looking for a dark horse in the 
morrow's campaign.) 

The First. No one in, thank heaven. Now let's talk this 
thing over, Jim. We'll run either Bob Goodman or Johnson, 
that's agreed, and of the two — 

The Second (with some heat). I'm in favor of Johnson; 
Bob Goodman's always impressed me as being too slick a 
politician. 

The First. I don't agree with you. He speaks to 'em all ; 
but he doesn't boot any of 'em — You know, it's no crime to 
treat people decent. 

The Second (sneers). Yeh! — and the way he does it it's 
mighty good politics. 

The First. You're wrong — Bob hasn't got a politicking 
bone in him — I know that fellow — why, he wouldn't run for 
any job on the campus, if he knew a ring was working for 
him. 



The Magazine 257 

The Second (with conviction). I'll betcha on it. He'd 
jump at the chance in a minute if he could. 

The First. Listen — I'll show you. We'll put up that 
kind of a proposition to him. Tell him we can get him elect- 
ed with the aid of a little organization canvassing the dorms. 
Do you see ? 

The Second. Well, he's going to refuse — I'm sure of that, 
and if he does — 

The Second. I'll beg his pardon and be strong for him 
for anything up to President of the United States — But if 
he doesn't refuse — 

The First. No chance — but if he doesn't refuse we'll 
brand him as a politician and drop him. 

The Second. Good enough. Now let's find him and put it 
up to him. 

The First. Let's look down stairs — if he's not there we'll 
come back and wait for him. He'll be back soon, any way. 

(They go out. The bach door slowly opens and The 
Junior, after peering in, comes softly out, tiptoeing. He 
has forgotten that his face is covered with lather and that he 
holds his shaving brush in one hand. He is exultant.) 

The Junior (exultantly, tiptoeing across the room). Aha! 
aha ! So that's their game. (After a moment, piously) O 
why is Heaven so good to me ? 

(Downstairs the opening and slamming of doors may be 
heard and the shouted inquiries, "Is Bob Goodman in here V' 
and the shouted answers, "No," "Havent seen him to- 
night") 

Goodman (meditating quickly). Now if I can get out of 
the room and across the hall into Blakely's room without 
making any noise everything will be tanlac — (But even as he 
is talking he goes into the next room, gets on his coat, wipes 
off the lather, and comes out again hastily tieing his tie. He 
goes softly to the door, looks out, and steps out, closing the 



258 The Magazine 

door gently. Across the hall another door may be heard to 
softly open and close and in a minute the heavy clatter of the 
two Juniors coming up the stairs is again heard. They burst 
into the room somewhat breathless from their exertions.) 

The First. Well, he's bound to come in soon, any way 
(consulting his watch) It's ten-thirty now. 

The Second. Now look here, Ed, don't you let the cat out 
of the bag — do you hear — 

The First (irritably). Let the cat out of the bag? What 
do you mean I 

The Second. Don't fail to be serious. Don't let this bird 
Goodman know this is a frame-up. Why (he reddens at the 
thought) if he is straight I'm in a hell of a fix anyhow — I 
owe him a flat apology, that's all. 

The First (confidently). Well, you'd better be getting 
your little speech ready — I know this boy. 

(The sound of some one coming up the stairs is heard. 
They look at each other expectantly. Goodman enters the 
room. He is quite cool and possessed now and shows no 
signs of his recent perturbation.) 

Goodman (pleasantly). Good evening, gentlemen. (They 
nod. ) 

The First. Hello, Bob, where' ve you been all night ? 

Goodman (lying with an ease born of long practice). At 
the library, working up a thesis — why, have you been looking 
for me? 

The First (confidentially). Yes, Bob, sit down. We 
want to talk to you about the election to-morrow. (Still more 
confidentially) Say, who do you think is a good man for the 
Class presidency ? 

Goodman (apparently somewhat embarrassed). Why, — I 
don't know, Ed. You know I've been busy this spring, and 
I haven't paid much attention to politics — it never did in- 
terest me much. (He says this with a laugh.) 



The Magazine 259 

The First Junior. Listen, Bob, Jim over here and I have 
been talking this thing over and we've about concluded that 
you're the logical man for the place. 

Goodman {in the greatest astonishment). Me — do you 
mean me ? {They both nod.) 

The First. Yes, you — Bob. Now here's our scheme: 
You've got friends enough to pull you through but we've got 
to have some organization behind you to get 'em together 
before the election. Now Jim and I will canvass the Class 
to-morrow — if you'll agree to run — and get everything sewed 
up for you — after that it '11. be easy. 

Goodman {in slow astonishment that there can be so much 
wickedness among mankind). Do you mean that you will 
ask my classmates to vote for me ? 

The First Junior. Sure. 

Goodman {springing to his feet furiously and pounding 
the table viciously). Do you realize what you are asking me 
to do — me — me? {He pounds his chest for dramatic effect.) 
After living on this campus for three years without a blot 
on my name — you come to me with this sort of proposal — 
Gawd, gentlemen, it makes me see red ! 

The Second Junior {soothingly). Now, now, Goodman, 
we meant no harm — let me explain. 

Goodman {sorrowfully now). Explain! There can be no 
explanations — only intense regret for me that I should live 
to see two of my classmates disgrace themselves and insult 
me — Gawd knows, I have my faults, but I have never 
stooped to politics. {He is overcome here and bows his 
head.) 

The First Junior {pacifically). Wait a minute, Bob, be- 
fore you cuss us out. This was all a frame-up. We wanted 
to see if you would fall for this kind of a proposition. You 



260 The Magazine 

have done just what I thought you would. We framed up 
on you not ten minutes ago in this very room. Now we want 
to run you any way. We'll run you straight and advertise 
this event ; we can get you elected all right. 

The Second Junior. Just another thing, Goodman. I 
want to apologize for doubting you. I proposed the frame- 
up — but now I see my mistake and I'll back you to the limit. 

Goodman {with touching nobility). Ah! my friends, the 
nomination means little to me now, the main fact is that you 
have vindicated yourselves in my opinion. 

{The two look at him in open awe. They realize they are 
beholding one of nature's noblemen. Goodmans difficulties 
seem to be over now, but just at this minute The Soph re- 
turns alone from the P. 0.) 

The Soph. No mail for you, Bob; did you finish shav- 
ing ? ( Goodman frowns at him, but The Soph sees the two 
visitors). Oh, hello, boys — we'll have a real political con- 
vention when you two and Honest Bob get together. {Good- 
man looks murderously at him.) 

The F. J. {laughing). We two, perhaps — but leave Bob 
out of it. We framed up on him in here while ago, offered 
to campaign for him, and he not only refused when he came 
in, but cussed us out to boot — 

The Soph. When he came — Say {to Goodman), where've 
you been ? 

Goodman {regaining his composure) . Up at the library. 

The Soph {beginning to see daylight). How long? 

Goodman {with perfect composure and not even choking). 
Since supper. {Even The Soph is jarred at this.) 

The Soph {beginning to laugh). No — you can't bribe 
Honest Bob, gentlemen — it can't be done. 

The F. J. Good night, Bob — we'll have to be going now. 
We'll see you to-morrow. 

Goodman {gravely). Good night, gentlemen. 



The Magazine 261 

{They go out.) 

Goodman {viciously). You idiot! Every time you open 
your mouth you try to cut not only your own throat but mine, 
too. 

The Soph {gasping for breath). Honest Bob — the Peo- 
ple's Friend — refusing their vile offer — and he heard it all ! 
Oh, but you're a hellion — 

Goodman {grinning sheepishly) . Nothing else to be done. 
I was penned up in the back room — I couldn't help it, you 
know. 

The Soph. What a nerve! Say, you don't need any 
Tanlac. 

Goodman. Yes, and you're mighty lucky not to be needing 
a coffin. I thought the jig was up when you came in — If 
you ever tell {he pauses ominously). 

The Soph. What ? 

Goodman. They'll have to gather your scattered remains 
and carry them off in a basket. Let's go to bed. 

The Curtain 




262 The Magazine 



iKBing0 Cftat jFatleB 

C. J. Parker, Jr. 

" 'Higher, a little higher/ he muttered to him- 
self. And he flew higher, higher into the sun, and 
the sun's heat began to melt the wax with which 
they were fastened, and Icarus felt himself sinking, 
falling. He screamed, but it was too late, and old 
Daedalus turned just in time to see him plunge 
head-long into the sea." 

— The Fable of Icarus. 

The old gentleman glanced up. A peculiar expression 
dwelt upon his features. He opened his mouth as though to 
speak, and then upon second thought plunged again into his 
book. The whole fireside assembly nudged one another and 
waited, a hushed air of anticipation hanging sensibly about 
the group. The old gentleman had of late been reading much 
of mythology, and his clever anecdotes and keen reflections 
had become a source of enjoyment to the clubmen lounging 
during their after-dinner smoke. 

He glanced up again, closing the volume, and clearing his 
throat. He allowed his gaze to rest for a moment on the red 
glowing grate and then to rove aimlessly about his audience, 
returning finally to an easy contemplation of the coals. He 
commenced : 

"It was just fifteen years ago — back in '17, at the very 
darkest juncture of the war, that this incident took place. 
The Germans were rolling in on Paris, and the whole world 
was looking to America to stop them. You chaps will never 
know what a muddle we were in — it was one of the most 
doubtful times in our history. 



The Magazine 26& 

"It was a particularly gloomy day, and the whole depart- 
ment was out of sorts — I, perhaps, worse than any one. 
Everything had gone wrong, everything from the percentage 
of brass in the newest shell case to the general failure in de- 
sign of the first Liberty Motor. I was almost ready to for- 
sake the office in general despair when a clerk entered, bear- 
ing the card of a gentleman whom, it seemed, desired imme- 
diate admittance. I observed the card, and such a name — it 
has lodged in my memory until this day : Boslongue Gutzon, 
Inventor. 

"I was in no mood to be trifled with, but gave instructions 
to show the gentleman in. He entered, and I shall never 
forget those first impressions created on sight of him. A 
diminutive man, sparse, and possessed of the general mein 
of a rat terrier. The lower half of his face was covered with 
a shaggy, unkempt beard, and the upper half almost com- 
pletely obscured beneath the brim of an ancient slouch hat, 
which he did not remove, even in the presence of my pretty 
little secretary, who gave him just one reproachful look and 
passed him up as hopeless. Only his eyes were visible — 
black, darting, suspicious eyes. The very sight of him sent 
shivers up my spine. 

"Well, I had him seated and soon got his tale from him. In 
his jerky, half -fawning, half-haughty manner he imparted 
his mission to me. He had solved the age-long mystery ! He 
had accomplished what had baffled the whole line of Physi- 
cists from Archimedes to Newton! He had discovered the 
principle of perpetual motion! — had incorporated it into a 
machine utilizable as any motive source! And he only 
needed a hundred thousand dollars to perfect his invention. 



264 The Magazine 

"I was skeptical, but the fellow finally convinced me, with 
his whole category of drawings and details, that there might 
perhaps be something in his proposition. So I promised an 
investigation, to take place the following day at his workshop 
in Baltimore. 

"The incident entirely slipped my mind, and it was only 
upon the timely reminder of my secretary that I hastily 
picked up two of the best men in the department and motored 
over to Baltimore. 

"After some difficulty we located the shop, which wa* 
obscurely located on a back street, and were met by the in- 
ventor who ushered us to the second floor, down a long, dark 
corridor, to his laboratory, as he was pleased to call it. He 
threw open the door, revealing a small, square room, very in- 
sufficiently illuminated by one dingy window. The room 
itself was completely littered with all means of mechanical 
and physical apparatus, and in its center there stood, secured 
to the floor, a mechanical contrivance of the most radical and 
queer design that I had ever seen. It was running, purring 
softly, and had been doing so for the past six days or so, we 
were assured by the inventor. 

"Well, we examined the machine as well as the uncertain 
light would permit, and were able nowhere to discover any 
apparent motive source. The thing, to say the least, was 
amazing, and we were frankly puzzled. The inventor stood 
by, watching us intently, but maintaining an absolute silence. 
One of my men inquired bluntly as to the motive power, and 
he merely grinned and pointed mysteriously to two heavy 
balls, differentiated on a central shaft. We left, rather mys- 
tified, promising to return on the following Wednesday for 
a final investigation and disposition." 

The old man paused, sleepily, and stared aimlessly into the 
grate. 



The Magazine 265 

"Go on," muttered one, "go on, what happened V 

"Well/' returned the old man, "there's a moral connected 
there. I've just been reading about old Icarus, and there was 
something about him that impressed me. Yes, we returned 
as we had promised, but found the place deserted, the engine 
stalled, and an evil odor as of putrefied flesh pervading the 
whole atmosphere. We suspected foul play, and making a 
hasty survey, discovered in one obscure corner an open trap 
door. We descended, lighting the dark passage with our 
pocket torches. The air was so foul that we were nearly 
stifled, but managed to gain the bottom. There we found 
him — lying prone at the base of a modern Deisel Engine, 
which was connected by means of a cleverly concealed shaft 
to the machine above. 

"The coroner pronounced it as 'accidental death due to 
poisoning from carbon monoxide fumes from gas engine ex- 
haust.' But to me, contemplating the tragedy, there came 
an inner intimation of something deeper — something with 
the touch of the supernatural — for there he lay, a mere mean 
semblance of what might have been. He would have leapt 
to fame on the wings of his insidious pretense, and had, as 
had Icarus of old, fallen victim to the fundamental frailty 
in their construction." 

The old man concluded, lighting a cigar, "Yes, it all seems 
quite tame now, just a mere tale. But let me tell you, in 
those days it created some stir, especially in certain diplo- 
matic circles." 



266 The Magazine 



Ctente ans 

Jesse M. Bobbins 

Tonight I found your picture 

In my time-worn memory book. 
Do you know — I'd most forgotten 

Just how you used to look ? 
For it's thirty years to college, 

And the rosy paths of youth 
Have but led me from the dawn of day, 

To the swiftly falling dew. 

Now it seems your lips do move, 
And I hear your voice again 

Calling to me softly, as of old, 
When we were friends. 

(Yet my heart yearns still more strongly 
For the ones I used to know.) 

Gad ! A man forgets too easy 

In this age of flying days — 
When they lengthen into weeks and months- 

But to-night my memory strays, 
For it's thirty years to college, 

Down a dim and shadowed track; 
For it's thirty years to college, 

And I can't go back. 



The Magazine 267 



Sntegtation of StuBent Life 

John H. Kekr, Jr. 

There has been nothing more remarkable in the educa- 
tional history of North Carolina in the last ten years than 
the wonderful and marvelous growth along all of the chan- 
nels of service and education, of the University of North 
Carolina. The real impetus of this growth has been in force 
for the last five years, but the foundation for such an im- 
petus can be traced for five years further. When the Uni- 
versity of North Carolina grows the State of North Carolina 
grows, for they both are linked up in bonds of common de- 
pendence. The one is the institution of the other. The State 
created the University as a medium of service for the people 
of the State. The University, by virtue of this conception 
giving birth to it, owes it to the State to perform as best it 
may this expected service. The late Dr. Graham aptly ex- 
pressed this relationship when he stated that the State of 
North Carolina should be the campus of this University. In 
order to meet this conception the departed leaders of the Uni- 
versity set about to grow the University to this conception, 
and the outcome of such a far-sighted policy has been the 
realization of a growing, expanding, and great University 
which is rapidly extending its influence into the utmost cor- 
ners of the State and fast translating the territory of the 
State into the campus of the University. 

As one result of this growth the student body yearly be- 
comes larger in numbers. This is one of the symbols of our 
growth. The extension department has reached out into the 
life of the State and created a state-wide interest in the work 



268 The Magazine 

being done here by the faculty and students. Men come here 
from all parts of the State, representing all classes of our 
citizens, and believers in all of the different sects and politi- 
cal doctrines in the State. These men enter here and become 
enrolled under one common banner. At last they have one 
thing in common, and in common, they pursue an educa- 
tional training. The University becomes a great melting pot 
for the life of the State where the best that can be had in 
talent and ability rise to the top and are given to the State 
in the persons of trained leaders. This is the conception that 
the people of North Carolina have of the true functioning of 
their University, and this conception is the producing of 
trained leaders. The University has become in reality an 
integrating point for the future leaders of North Carolina. 
When she becomes such then she is measuring up to that true 
relation between the State and herself, and fulfilling the ex- 
pectations of those who have gone before us. 

With the growth of the student body in numbers has come 
hand in hand the birth and growth of larger and more vital 
student problems. The time has passed in the history of the 
student body when it was possible for a student to know 
everybody on the campus. The numbers here render such an 
impossibility. The students have become segregated into 
different units and elements in the midst of a great life — 
the University life. Companionship and cooperation is the 
basis of all understanding. If we are to train the future 
leaders of the State, who, when they come into their positions 
of power and influence, must know each other as a guarantee 
for cooperation, then we must train these men on a common 
ground of understanding. We must introduce them to each 
other through the medium of a common purpose, and we 
must do it here at this University. The time has passed be- 
yond the power of human recall when it was possible to have 
here on this campus such a condition of understanding as 



The Magazine 269 

only intimate and friendly association, on the whole, can 
create. The University in its onward march of progress has 
extended beyond that point, and left it to live only in the 
memories of the past. Shall the spirit of the student life in 
this University, on account of this fact, become vague, for- 
eign, and distant to the mass of the students % This is the 
question and challenge that student life must accept. And 
student life will accept this challenge. The survival of the 
true conception of that invisible and all-powerful binding 
force — that spirit that we all love to call the great Carolina 
Spirit, that term that has been for several generations the 
rallying point and cry for united student action and front, 
hangs in the balance. It is threatened by an ever-increasing 
student body ignorant of each other, ignorant of each other's 
ideals, ambitions, and viewpoints. It is threatened by a con- 
dition of misunderstanding. The survival of the finest type 
of the Carolina Spirit depends on a condition in which all 
elements within the student body, regardless of how great the 
student body may be in numbers, will be drawn to each other, 
will understand each other, and working on the basis of a 
common understanding, will arrive at that condition of 
united student action. The student body and student life 
with its many sides must be integrated. To do such is to 
insure the survival of the Carolina Spirit — the Carolina 
Spirit reincarnated and equal to the progress of the Univer- 
sity. The task of integration must be carried out and the 
burden of the task will rest largely on the shoulders of the 
student body and the student leaders of that body. To this 
duty the student leaders must arise, and catching a vision of 
it, carry it forward, and in the task quit themselves like men 
who stand above the lines of partisanship. To integrate the 
student life in this University is no small task and it calls for 
no little effort. It is the task of coordinating all of the atti- 
tudes, aspects, elements, and phases in this great unwieldy 



270 The Magazine 

student body into a compact unit of thinking men, who at 
one time and in concert think over the different problems of 
campus and student life, directing their thoughts in unison 
toward the solution of them. 

This is no idle dream, this plan of integration, to be spun 
in the idle moments of the day and night, but a real, live, 
active force on this campus, although invisible and not prom- 
inent in the everyday mind of the students, yet tangible in 
the councils of student government and always the saving 
hope of student problems, seemingly impossible of an effect- 
ive solution. It is to the student body that the student gov- 
ernment must come, in times of crises, for support and en- 
dorsement. No one here favors the abolition of our present 
form of student government. And a student government 
pursuing a policy of fairness and justice will always com- 
mand the support of the thinking men in the student body, 
and these thinkers are generally the leaders. 

Having stated that there are problems in the student life 
that always invite the solving powers of the student leaders, 
it is fitting and proper that some of the problems be cited for 
practical benefit and application. Such a condition as the 
<ight and wrong attitude of fraternity and non-fraternity 
men toward each other is a fair example of a problem which 
can only be definitely settled through a process of integration 
and working upon a basis of common understanding. The 
real fault here is that the mass of the men from both sides 
do not really know and understand the position of each other. 
It is a case, pure and beyond question, of misunderstanding 
based on separation of association. It is an example of where 
two elements are not integrated sufficiently in the common 
walk of college life to get the truthful viewpoint of each 
other. Let these men associate together for a while, inte- 
grate these men by means of some common cause, and these 
lines of division disappear as the morning dew before the 



The Magazine 271 

sun of midday. This condition of misunderstanding between 
elements and different parties disappears when the light of 
association, directed by a common purpose, is thrown over it. 
This integrating light dries up all traces of partisanship and 
produces a body of men, thinking men, who put the welfare 
of the University of North Carolina before everything else 
in their college life, and in doing so stand united for and by 
a common cause — the uplift and betterment of the student 
body and student life. In this great unwieldy student body 
lines of class division and partisanship must be held down 
as much as possible if not destroyed absolutely, if we would 
have the best atmosphere of student life in which to breathe 
and live. It is to the task of wiping out these lines of par- 
tisanship that the student leaders from all aspects of college 
life must consecrate and dedicate themselves. Some time 
ago an epidemic of stealing broke out on this campus, appear- 
ing here and there as plagues appear among the population. 
Lifting its head here for the moment, there the next moment. 
No clue could be obtained as to who was polluting the temple 
of student government and the sanctuary of the spirit of the 
Honor System. It was the subtle work of men on this cam- 
pus who were out of harmony with the best things that we 
believe in here. In the face of such a situation, with no 
basis to find out who were the guilty parties, the hands of the 
student government authorities were tied. Who did they 
finally appeal to for aid in destroying this danger ? It was 
the student body. The President of the Student Govern- 
ment called into conference student leaders from all aspects 
of college life — professional and academic. Around that 
conference table sat the student body of this University. 
Around that table sat fourteen hundred and fifty men in 
the persons of their representatives. There sat integration 
enthroned. They discussed the epidemic of thieving, and 
with a unanimous voice they resolved, in concerted action, to 



272 The Magazine 

crush it. The following afternoon all the classes in this Uni- 
versity were holding meetings at the same hour, all discuss- 
ing the same problem, and crystallizing student sentiment 
accordingly. Here were over fourteen hundred men think- 
ing at one time of one thing and that one thing was the de- 
vising of a method which would rid the student body of a 
sore approaching ulceration. These are examples of how 
and when the student body has been integrated, has been 
brought to the point of thinking and acting in unison for the 
betterment of the student body and student life. This is the 
practical side of it. This is the upholder and proof of the 
theory. 

What is the principle of integration? It is the making 
into one whole the scattered student views and viewpoints in 
regard to student life. It is action in unison on the part of 
the student body when dealing with student problems. It is 
the entire student body standing on the basis of a common 
understanding, with the lines of class division and partisan- 
ship broken asunder and lying at their feet in the dust of 
contempt. 

A practical plan which would realize this integration would 
be to have the heads of the Y. M. C. A., Pan-Hellenic Coun- 
cil, Senior professional classes and Editors-in-Chief of the 
various college publications, act as an advisory board to 
the President of the Student Government whenever he should 
desire their aid in dealing with the student life problems. 
In this collection of men you have all of the elements and 
sides of student life present. You have the student body in- 
tegrated. You have the student body at a point where they 
can be consulted and where they can act together whenever 
questions arise on this campus which are of vital issue and 
importance to the student body at large. 



The Magazine 



273 



Shall we accept the principle of student integration? Is 
it not worthy of trial? It is the one great invisible force 
which can save that fine spirit of comradeship, tied up in the 
bond of a University man, from becoming foreign to this cam- 
pus as more students annually increase the list of those pre- 
viously enrolled. The glove of the challenge has been thrown 
down at the feet of the thinkers of the student body, and these 
thinkers are the student leaders. The student leaders, once, 
catching a sight of the vision, will accept this challenge, and 
in accepting it, realize the spirit of integration. It can not; 
fail. 




274 The Magazine 



KaOtcaltem anD America 

George W. McCoy 

Europe is seething with radicalism brought on by the dev- 
astation wrought by the late war and by innumerable causes 
dating back through the years of tyranny, injustice, and 
oppression upon the lower class by the upper classes. Rad- 
icalism finds its center in Russia under the heading of Bol- 
shevism, while its socialistic aspect finds its center in the 
Germanies. Let us for a moment consider what radicalism 
is. The Vicar of Harrow, in 1820, said that "Radicalism is 
a spirit, of which the first elements are a rejection of Scrip- 
ture, and a contempt of all the institutions of your country; 
and of which the results, unless averted by a merciful Provi- 
dence, must be anarchy, atheism, and universal ruin." 

The Vicar seems to have struck home, for radicalism as 
proclaimed to-day throws defiance into the face of "all the 
instutions of our country," and is trying by anarchy to bring 
the world into universal ruin. 

What are the causes of that form of extreme radicalism in 
Russia under the head of Bolshevism? Robert Goodwin 
Rhett recently said that "inequalities existing in government 
are the cause of Bolshevism." Inequalities existing in gov- 
ernment are truly a cause, but are not social and economic 
inequalities, as well as political, the causes of Bolshevism ? 

What are the roots of Socialism \ The real roots lie back 
of 1871 in the Industrial Revolution. As long ago as 1794 
the Frenchman Babeuf declared that it was idle to talk about 
political or social equality so long as equality of wealth or of 
economic opportunities was lacking. The Utopian Socialism 



The Magazine 275 

of the Industrial Kevolution, fostered by Eobert Owen, took 
the form of ideal communities whose members would live in 
common, and share on equal terms the labors and the profits. 
This Utopian Socialism failed, and to later Socialists it 
hardly appeared as Socialism at all. 

Marxian Socialism takes its name from its formulator, 
Karl Marx. His theories were embodied in the Communist 
Manifesto, in which he declared that "Communism" was to 
organize the proletarians into a class party, to have the pro- 
letariat gain political power, and to abolish middle class pro- 
perty ownership. The realization of these aims will mean 
the transformation of private-owned capital into rightful 
common property, and the abolition of middle class free 
trade, of middle class religion, and morality, and of hostility 
between nations. The Manifesto concludes by saying: "The 
proletarians have nothing to lose but their chains. They have 
a world to win. Workingmen of all countries unite!" 

The above constitutes the beginning of modern Socialism. 
Its extreme type is Bolshevism and to-day Bolshevism is ram- 
pant, marching with the torch of hatred over all of Eastern 
Europe and endeavoring through its emissaries to spread its 
doctrines throughout the world. 

This brings us naturally to the consideration of the part 
America will play in this social world upheaval, and of the 
danger that confronts us in such a menace. Will the steady 
infiltration into this country of foreigners with their radical 
propaganda affect the American workingman ? Let us con- 
sider separately the native and the foreign-born American 
workingmen. The native workmen of America for the most 
part of north European, Scotch-Irish and English stock, 
have always in time of national crisis been found under 
the true flag of America. They are as true sons of America 
and are as loyal as the people of the so-called middle class ; 
they are staunch supporters of Americanism, and all that 
that name implies. They are well educated compared with 



276 The Magazine 

the lower classes of Europe. They are better paid, better fed, 
and although they have not as much of this world's goods as 
they, perhaps, should have, I have too much confidence in 
the average native American to believe that he will ever be 
converted to the doctrines of Karl Marx and Lenine. 

So much for the native American. But what of the foreign 
element of our population J It is here that our problem con- 
fronts us squarely in the face and it is by no means an easy 
problem to solve. It is a problem that requires all the tact 
and diplomacy of the government of the United States. The 
foreign element composed of people of all races, the slavs of 
Russia, Austria, and Hungary, Lithuanians, Poles, Czecks,. 
Slovaks, are all here in our population. They are of the 
kind that did not come over before the Civil War, when the 
best stock that Europe could send came over, but they have 
been coming since then in ever-increasing numbers. A large 
number are uneducated, many thousands can not speak our 
language, and of course are unacquainted with our national 
ideals as to what constitutes a nation. They are the ones from 
whom the danger is ever present in America. They are the 
ones among whom the Bolshevists will sow their seed of dis- 
cord and destruction, and it is greatly feared that the seed 
sown will bear poisoned fruit. It is a problem that awaits 
solution. Restriction of immigration is the only possible 
means of checking the foreigners who come to our shores. To 
do this Congress should enact at once an immigration bill 
that should restrict all immigration to these shores as long as 
anarchy lasts in Europe. In the meantime the Department 
of Justice is doing, and should do, all in its power to suppress 
those radicals who are crying out their doctrines of Socialism 
and Bolshevism here. 

America is at a greater crisis in her history than at any 
time since Gettysburg, and the individual American should 
awake to his responsibilities as a citizen of the United States 
and do all in his power to prevent universal ruin in this land 
that is dear to us all. 



The Magazine 277 



9 Drama 

LeGette Blythe 

"Now mind what I'm tellin' ye! I'm gonna call you at 
four in the mornin' so's ye can git them hogs slopped, an' 
them cows fed an' milked. An' be sure to lay in some cawn 
and ruffness fer them hosses the first thing ye do so's they 
kin be through eatin' time we git ready fer 'em. We got to 
put in er good day to-morrer. 01' Man Hampdon's pushin' 
me fer some money on the place. Says if I don't do better 
this year than last year he'll turn me out an' let somebody 
have the place as kin make him money on it." 

Old Berry took a last gulp of buttermilk, wiped his mus- 
tache with his coat sleeve, and getting up from the table, 
strode over to the fireplace and sat down. 

His son John nodded, but his eyes remained fixedly upon 
the plate before him. 

"An' Mollie," he continued, speaking to his daughter, who 
was setting the dish-pan upon the oilcloth covered table pre- 
paratory to washing the supper dishes, "you better crawl in 
pretty soon so you kin help yo' Maw to-morrer with the wash- 
in'. I reckon you'll haf ter lay out er school ergin. Po' folks 
like us don't need no larnin' noway." 

"Aw right, Paw, I ain't larnin' nothin' noways, fer I'm 
so fur behint I cain't ketch up," drawled Mollie in reply, as 
she crossed over to the stove to get the kettle of hot water 
with which to fill the pan on the table. 

Old Berry got up from his chair, and with his shoes in his 
hand, stalked out of the room into the little side bedroom. 

"Good night, Paw," ventured Mollie hopefully. 

There was a momentary silence. 



278 The Magazine 

"Good night/' answered the man from the other room, and 
his words were an attempt at kindness. 

Mollie finished washing the dishes and had begun to wipe 
them before the boy stirred in his chair. He looked up with 
a haggard expression on his tanned face. There was a look 
of utter hopelessness about him; as he slouched over to the 
seat that his father had just vacated he had the appearance of, 
a hunted beast. 

The boy sat down. His sister had finished her work and 
had come over to sit down on the arm of his chair. She said 
nothing — she divined his thoughts and she, too, was worried.. 
The boy glanced toward his father's bedroom, and saw with 
satisfaction that the door was closed. 

"Sis," he began in a low voice, "why wuz we born pore an' 
haf to work all the time, an' then don't git nothin' fer it? 
Why ain't we got ernough money to live on decent, so's we kin 
go to school — leastways you, if none uv the rest uv us chaps — 
an' so's Maw won't haf to work so hard an' not have eny good 
clothes, er you eny either ?" 

There was tragedy in each word that he said. His whole 
starved soul was finding itself, and was inquiring the reason 
why ? The girl understood his longing, for it also possessed 
her. She, too, was asking why ? 

"We ain't doin' no good," he burst out bitterly. "We're 
workin' our heads off an' we ain't even gittin' out er debt. 
It ain't no use to work so hard. Other fokes don't do it, an' 
they git erlong better'n us. They have money, an' git to go 
to see shows, an' have plenty good things to eat. 

But I ain't studyin' over that so much as I am 'bout you 
an' Maw an' the chaps. You ain't gittin' a dog chance, an' 
you're good as eny uv them city gals, an' jist as purty ef you 
had purty clothes to wear like them. You'll haf to marry 
some pore feller that can't hardly make a livin' — an' Lord 
knows I want you to have a chanct ef I don't." 



The Magazine 279 

The girl was silent. Her suffering, though not outspoken, 
was as great as his. 

John looked up from staring into the fire and began again : 

"Sis," he said, "I been thinkin' 'bout goin' down to Kock 
Mill an' startin' to work in the cotton mill down there. I kin 
make some money to lay by, an' then I can send you an' Maw 
an' the kids some nice clothes to wear. An' maybe I kin git 
ernough to send you off to school some'eres. They pay good 
money down there, fer I heared Jim Brown talkin' 'bout it 
t'other day down at the store." 

He and his sister got up, and saying "Good night," sepa- 
rated to go to bed. His sister went into her room downstairs, 
and John climbed up the steps into the attic. He no longer 
had the air of the haunted man ; he went to bed looking as if 
he was reconciled to his condition. But it was the look of a 
man who has determined upon his course. 

And so in a few months the farm lost John and the hungry, 
devouring mill swallowed him up. 




280 The Magazine 



Cfte Lecture Course 

William E. Horner 

The method of teaching now in vogue in our higher insti- 
tutions of learning is more and more proving itself unworthy 
of the trust reposed in it. To-day, the lecture course, the 
greatest hindrance to further progress in our universities and 
colleges, is at its height ; but to-morrow, it will be supplanted 
by the intensive study method now in use in our high schools. 

The lecture course trusts the student too much, but he has 
forfeited this trust. The idea behind the establishment of 
the lecture course was to give the student a chance to study 
for himself outside of class hours, and to give him the bene- 
fit of the instructor's superior knowledge while in class. The 
student realizes that he will not be questioned on the mor- 
row's assignment ; so the lessons are not prepared. They are 
never prepared as they should be. At the two or three quizzes 
given during the quarter the student studies a few hours in 
a vain attempt to memorize the gist of what it has taken the 
professor fifteen or twenty hours to lecture on. The result 
is too often disastrous, not only to the student's hope of pass- 
ing the course, but also to the professor's success as a teacher. 
The crowning event comes at the final examination, however. 
The student studies for ten or fifteen hours as he has never 
studied before, goes in class with a jumbled maze of ideas; 
and comes off with the determination to straightway forget all 
he may have accidentally acquired concerning the course. 

A hundred years ago, when there were few things to divert 
the mind of the student from his books, the lecture course 
might have been a success. It might have been a success in 
the days when men were not "dumb driven cattle." It might 



The Magazine 281 

have been a success when men came to college, not to have a 
good time, but to really learn something. But conditions 
have changed, and to-day, what with fraternities, athletics, 
and the hundred other phases of college life, the student's 
mind is continually being diverted from his studies. Every- 
body is determined to do as little work as possible. With the 
lecture course, men do not have to study because they can 
rely on absorbing enough of what the professor says in class 
to pass the quizzes and examination ; and in any case, the pro- 
fessor must pass most of them, because upon the number he 
passes rests his success as a teacher. From this, it seems as 
if our universities and colleges have degenerated into places 
where diplomas are given for virtually nothing more than a 
four years' residence. 

The effect of the lecture course on the student is that he 
becomes a mere machine which must quote the professor or 
textbook to the slightest detail. Whatever bits of knowledge 
the student may carry away with him are those things upon 
which the instructor has laid special stress. The professor 
can not help the fact that his personal hobbies and opinions 
receive more emphasis than the general run of the book. The 
result is that the personality of the student is subdued to that 
of the professor, because he must study those things in which 
the professor is especially interested, in the belief that they 
will be asked on examination. Outside of these "spots," the 
student learns scarcely anything. 

Lectures are just as dry to the professor as to the student. 
The instructor has to lecture to a crowd of human beings, 
become, for the time, mere note-taking machines. He gets no 
insight into their personality, for it is seldom that a student 
even musters the courage to ask the professor a question. 
Some professors think it an insult to them for a mere student 
to differ with them on a question ; some welcome differences 
because it provides them with an opportunity to get an in- 



282 The Magazine 

sight into the mind and personality of the man to whom they 
are talking. In either case, the student usually remains 
silent. It is in this way that professors have men under them 
for several quarters, and yet never learn their ambitions, 
their temperament, their thoughts. Neither the student nor 
the professor can do his best work when each seems a mere 
machine to the other. 

As for the institution as a whole, the standard of learning 
is lowered. The college may graduate a man who has a spe- 
cial insight into the whys and wherefores of lightning and 
lightning-rods, but who has no knowledge of the general sub- 
ject of physics; she may graduate a man who can tell you 
every reason why a tariff should be lowered, but who can tell 
you nothing of general economics. This is bound to tell on 
the institution sooner or later for as her standard of learning 
is lowered, less and less respect will be held for her by men 
who come in contact with her graduates. Society does not 
want a man to be able to quote the dates and the names of 
the organic laws which form the French constitution ; on the 
contrary, society wants the men to have a general insight 
into the causes of the constitution and the effects of it on the 
history of France. And the colleges must realize that their 
reputation is lowered unless the graduate does have this gen- 
eral knowledge. 

The future for the lecture course is not very bright, be- 
cause officials in charge of our universities and colleges are 
beginning to realize that there is no place in modern college 
life for it. They realize that students will not study unless 
they are made to ; so high school methods are going to be in- 
troduced into colleges in an attempt to raise the standard of 
learning by forcing the student to learn something. In this 
new method, the instructor will ask each student at least one 
question a day, the average grades of which will make up at 
least fifty per cent of the final mark. Quizzes will be given 



The Magazine 283 

weekly if possible, certainly every two weeks, and the aver- 
age of these will count for twenty-five per cent of the grade. 
The final examination will not count over ten or fifteen per 
cent of the term grade. The remainder of the final grade 
will be calculated in any way the professor sees fit. The 
different parts in such a system would be well proportioned ; 
and the entire scheme would tend to the best interest of stu- 
dent, professor, and college. 




284 The Magazine 



Cfte l?eto potoer* 

P. A. Reavis, Jr. 

Throughout history this State has been noted for its con- 
servatism. This trait is not only manifest in the government, 
but it is a decided trait in the character of its people. A 
state in a democracy is what its people make it and North 
Carolina has neither lacked leadership nor aggressiveness. 
There is one phase of government which she has, however, 
neglected — that of investing in her chief executive certain 
powers which would not only make him a more efficient ex- 
ecutive, but would make him pay more attention to the duties 
of his office, especially as to the policy of the administration. 
The veto power is needed very badly in this State to-day. Our 
conservatism has held us so far behind the times in this mat- 
ter that the State of North Carolina is the only State in the 
Union to-day that does not invest in its chief executive some 
form of the veto power. 

The history of this veto power in this country is very in- 
teresting. It was originally granted under the constitutions 
of three of the thirteen states, Massachusetts, South Carolina, 
and New York, and by 1850 four more had granted it, they 
being Georgia, Pennsylvania, Connecticut and New Jersey. 
Later all the rest of the thirteen granted it in some form. Of 
all the other states all but four granted this power to their 
governors on their admission into the Union, and these four 
afterwards did so, Ohio being the last in 1903. We see, 
therefore, that North Carolina is the only state that does not 
trust its governor with some means of saying "No" to meas- 
ures that he does not approve of. 



The Magazine 285 

There are several reasons why the Governor of North Caro- 
lina should be granted this power. They are : 

1. The power is necessary for the successful maintenance 
of his administration. 

2. His regard for the public welfare will be increased by 
the granting of this power. 

3. The veto power will make him something more than a 
mere figurehead in the affairs of the State. 

The granting of this power by other states illustrates the 
disposition on the part of the people to regard the Governor as 
the guardian of public welfare versus the underhand methods 
of lawmakers and politicians. This power is used not only 
in the case of measures which the governor may regard as 
unconstitutional, but also in case laws are passed by the legis- 
lature which run counter to his policy. "No power which 
can be given the executive strengthens his hands more, or 
serves the public interest better." It is especially necessary 
during this period of unrest for our Governor to have this 
power of veto. Our conservatism should be liberalized now 
for the common good of both the people and the State, and 
our law-makers can not serve this State better in any law that 
they make during the coming session of the legislature than 
by the amending of our State Constitution so as to grant the 
Governor of North Carolina the power of VETO. 



*Statistics used in this article taken from the Encyclopedia of 
American Government (1914) by McLaughlin and Hart. 



286 The Magazine 

apprenticeship in Literature 

W. E. Price 

Written English, as clear and lucid as a work in Pentel- 
ican marble, is a rare phenomenon even among the masters. 
And yet there come straying along in books and reviews, 
little bursts of purity, shining sentences free from cloudiness, 
that make a day somehow different. Why can we not have 
more of this art that is spellbinding, the art of pure English ? 
The American college student has a virility of idea that is 
striking, fully as striking as the idea of the French or Eng- 
lish undergraduate; yet of the thousands of expressions at- 
tempted among us few have the grace and the power that from 
time to time are revealed in the expressions of students in 
the old universities of Europe. 

Is beauty of writing an age-old growth that clings for cen- 
turies to ancient walls before blossoming in purity? Can it 
be that young Americans are not endowed with the native 
ability needed to produce good literature? Must we wait 
until our civilization is mellowed by time before we can ex- 
pect grace of written words ? 

Is not our failure rather one of method than of natural 
ability ? We have not recognized the fact that the fine art of 
writing springs not solely from inspiration but more from 
technique. Our universities fail to give a constant stimula- 
tion to latent literary ability by building up a strongly coor- 
dinated plan of growth, a growth in which skill of expression 
may gradually unfold itself. The undeveloped writer is 
subjected to a series of disjointed processes. He is given a 
preparatory course in theme writing. Then for three years, 
great slabs of literature; the Elizabethans, the Greeks, the 



The Magazine 287 

Eomanticists . . . each a unit to itself, with little con- 
nection to the whole, are thrust upon him. Idea and charac- 
ter are the mainsprings of interest that are stressed. The 
technique of writing is barely touched. Yet for one who 
seeks to create literature the mechanics of word- joining is as 
vital a knowledge as that of the trowel and level to the ap- 
prentice mason. We, of the American literature, must real- 
ize that a finished work of writing is much like a finished 
house. To produce one or the other careful training must be 
given in the method of joining unit to unit so that there shall 
result a harmonious whole. The newspapers and the period- 
icals of American colleges show an amazing range of vagaries 
in the use of words. Uniqueness or the bizarre is sought 
rather than simplicity and power. It is the high sorrow of 
American readers who distinguish, to see splendid ideas stalk 
out on the collegiate literary stage, half clothed in rude bar- 
baric attire that obscures the symmetry and the beauty of 
genius that is underneath. 

We must give a definite consideration to the technique of 
writing to develop a skilled handicraft. As each new field 
of research is entered and explored the instructor in charge 
should show the relation of that field to the whole and how 
it is bound together with its own peculiarities and trade- 
marks of expression. The discriminating choice of words, 
the mechanical construction and balance of sentences as a 
growth in English literature, these and all the material evi- 
dences of clear expression should be related by each depart- 
ment head to each young writer's dormant power. It is only 
thus that there can arise a generation of American writers 
who, masters of their tools, can tell the world what America 
thinks and feels. What we need is a more definite effort to 
make the college an apprentice school where students may 
learn the trade of fine writing as well as of fine appreciation. 



The Magazine 

University of North Carolina 

CHAPEL HILL, N. C. 

The Magazine, University of North Carolina, is published by the 
Dialectic and Philanthropic Literary Societies. Its object is to gather 
together what is best in the literary life of the students and give ex- 
pression to it. 

EDITORIAL STAFF 

J. P. Washburn, Phi Editor-in-Chief 

T. C. Wolfe, Di Assistant Editor-in-Chief 

ASSISTANT EDITORS 

W. R. Bebbyhill, Di. P. Hettleman, Phi. 

W. Le G. Blythe, Di. J. H. Kebb, Jb., Phi. 

W. B. Womble, Phi. 

MANAGERS 
G. D. Cbawfobd, Di Business Manager 



D. D. Topping, Phi. ) . . A . . 
W. A. Gabdneb, Phi. \ Assistant , 


Managers 


TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION, $1.00 A YEAR 




* 


etritoriaig 


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With this issue of The Magazine the 1920 staff passes 
out of existence in its official capacity. As we review the five 
previous issues, scattered as they have been through the nine 
months of the school year, a sense of limitation comes upon 
us. But it is not for us to bewail those limitations nor to 
eulogize the work of the past — nor yet, of that to come. We 
have tried to be popular — to please, and yet the main purpose 
of the Board has been that of Reformation. 



The Magazine 289 

The Magazine as a distinctive Belles-Lettres publication 
is dead. This issue is the dying gasp. This year with the 
thoughts of college men everywhere travelling towards and 
centering around the New, in literature, in economics, and in 
religion, it became necessary for college publications, as re- 
flectors of college thought and ideas, to take stock of their re- 
sources and keep up with the progress of the times. Accord- 
ingly we have published a conglomeration of Belles-Lettres 
type and articles a la 'New Bepublic. For this we make no 
apology whatever. The Magazine has, this year, passed 
through a period of transition and uncertainty, almost skep- 
ticism. Among some literary lights it has been unpopular, 
while on the other hand, supporters of The Tar Baby, mis- 
understanding the function of The Magazine, have ridi- 
culed its every attempt at reformation. This was bound to 
come, but out of the ashes of the old, phoenix-like, we look 
for the New Carolina Magazine to arise with a new spirit 
and a new purpose, fulfilling and filling full the needs and 
desires of not only the college world of the New Era, but 
moulding and directing the thought of the State, as the pen- 
dulum of civilization swings once more back to the side of 
sanity and un-Bolsheviked humanitarianism. 

And so The Magazine has departed this life, even as all 
institutions must that fail to keep pace with progress, that 
are a cycle or even a half cycle behind in the spiral of civil- 
ization. There is to be no lamentation, nor any funeral pyre. 

But "Being such stuff as Dreams are made of," we look 
forward four months hence. 

Whatever may be the policy of the 1921 Editor-in-Chief, 
or whoever he may be, with his new adventure in a new age 
he must have the support of the student body. Above all 
things The Magazine is distinctly a Carolina publication, 
and while our ideal for it would make The Magazine a 



290 The Magazine 

moulder of thought throughout the colleges of this section, 
yet above all it must not lose its distinctiveness and individ- 
uality as essentially a Carolina creation. The Magazine 
should be supported by the student body and not wholly by 
the two societies. At present to add this new weight to the 
Campus, already overtaxed in the matter of literary support, 
would, indeed, be suicidal both for The Magazine and the 
student body. And so The Magazine must create and fulfill 
the demand for such production and thought as it shall re- 
flect. 

The Editorial Staff, as it passes out, wishes to every Caro- 
lina man, Senior and prospective Freshman alike, a pleasant, 
enjoyable, and profitable summer. Hoping that out of the 
abundance of new ideas garnered hither and thither in your 
experience this summer, you may write intelligently and 
thoughtfully for the New Magazine of 1921. We bid you 
adieu ! 



The function of the University is to render educational 
service to the people of the State. This is being done admir- 
ably well in many ways through its various departments. But 
it seems that there is one way in which better and fuller use 
could be made of some of its facilities. The University 
maintains a teaching force of five professors in the Medical 
School. Could not further use be made of this faculty by 
offering a general, practical, elementary, elective medical 
course for those who are not in the medical school ? Such a 
course would embody personal and public hygiene, physiol- 
ogy, poisons and their antidotes. This course could be en- 
tirely elective and would count toward the requirements for 
the bachelor's degree. 



The Magazine 291 

Such a course as proposed would certainly be more valu- 
able and more interesting than an English course in Chaucer, 
a course in Latin drama, or a course in the theory of equa- 
tions. Because of its practicability and utility it is safe to 
say that such a course would be in demand. 

The need of a course of this kind is self-evident. It was in 
realization of this need that lectures were given on subjects 
of this nature in the Freshman general course during the win- 
ter term. In some colleges of high standing a course in hy- 
giene, physiology, disease, infection, and immunity is pre- 
scribed and required for the A. B. degree. While the Uni- 
versity is striving to be of so great a service, it seems that 
such a need and such an opportunity as this should not be 
overlooked, 

J. G. Guxlick, 



The Y. M. C. A. has spent the year taking stock. Having 
recently and very rapidly evolved from a club on religion 
into a representative campus organization, it has found it 
necessary to make a number of very deep and vital readjust- 
ments. They arise out of this fact: Carolina men do not 
want machinery but life. It applies to a baseball team. It 
also applies to a Y. M. C. A. The essential thing about a 
Y. M. C. A. is Christian association. Of course the wheels 
have to go 'round. You want socials and recreation, Bibles 
and classes, Freshman handbooks and reception committees! 
The machinery must remain. But on top of it and around it 
and underneath it and inside it must be packed and tamped 
down such a quantity of downright upright Christian living 
as to render it quite harmless and useful. This is what the 
leaders of the Association, in the name of the men of the 
campus, lay down as Association policy from now henceforth. 



292 The Magazine 

We believe the position is sound. We further believe it 
represents the sentiment of the campus and will receive the 
support of the campus. The war is over, and we no longer 
need a cigarette booth. We are getting back on our feet, and 
no longer need a hospital. We want, and want to back, a 
representative institution which will stand for decent, whole- 
some living, after the fashion of Christ, and will lay the 
stress on that and not the machinerv of it. 

At the same time we are aware of tasks to be done, and the 
need of money to do them. Last fall the 1,400 men of this 
campus gave to Association support a pittance so pitiful that 
the treasurer refused to publish the results. The Y. M. C. A. 
begs no man for money. It expects it of every man. To 
take advantage of the absence of beggary and send a campus 
institution to its creditors with unpaid bills and unmet needs 
is a strange contradiction of the spirit of this place. Next 
fall, it is our confident belief, Carolina men will fill full the 
treasury of their Association, make sure the future, and mend 
the past. 

We believe that we have on this campus an institution 
that belongs. It is ours, to serve and be served. Its policies, 
its hopes, and its desires grow out of the life which feeds it, 
and that life is the life of the men of Carolina. As long as 
it continues truly to represent, and to body forth rightfully 
the highest life we know, it has a right-to-be that can not wane 
and an esteem that can never grow dim. 



The Magazine 293 



C&e Snauguration anO its Significance 

Phillip Hettlemaist 

Nothing was more symbolic of the new era in the South 
than the inauguration of President Chase on the 28th of 
April. Noted educators and statesmen who assembled here 
gave eloquent proof of the interest the nation is taking in the 
new work of the University. It was indeed a true dedica- 
tion to the higher task we are undertaking. 

Five years ago the University started upon its experiment 
of extension work throughout the State. This was a new 
field for a college of the South, and it was natural that many 
Southern universities were skeptical concerning our success. 
The very fact that many of these institutions have adopted 
the policies which we began is a vindication which should 
speed us on our task. It has become a recognized fact that 
the college has a larger responsibility than the education of 
the few students on her campus. 

Prominent among our new activities of service is the 
Weekly News Letter, which is distributed throughout the 
State free of charge. Its columns are devoted to public health, 
education, questions of citizenship, and vital problems which 
affect the welfare of the State. The University, which was 
unknown to many of the citizens of the State a few years ago, 
has now become a vital institution in their lives. Through 
its publications the University has tried to make the people 
feel that their problems are her problems, and that she has 
an interest in their solution. 

Citizenship has found its outlet on the campus through the 
Carolina Club, and citizens in the making are giving their 



294 The Magazine 

advice to the lawmakers of the State. They have studied 
the problems of education, of public welfare, of state trans- 
portation, and their thoughts along the lines of public wel- 
fare are helping to mold the statutes of the State. They have 
decreed that the chain gang is the wrong method of punish- 
ment, and who doubts that their voice will not receive recog- 
nition ? 

Long after the ceremonies of the inauguration are for- 
gotten, its spirit will live. The University again dedicates 
herself to the "real and abiding needs of the State. 7 ' The 
message of service which was the theme of Dr. Graham's in- 
augural address four years ago has not been disregarded. 
Our new President is eager to continue the task. 



The Magazine 295 



Dangers of S@oOern ©fttcietup 

W. P. Hudson 

The last half -century has marked, among the more progres- 
sive nations of the world, a progress unparalleled by any sim- 
ilar period of time in history. This progress, this advance, 
this gain has brought with it many things to be desired, and 
yet has fastened upon mankind some few things to be la- 
mented. 

In remote times what progress there was existed only in 
the activities of the less civilized man. Progress and action 
was entirely individual, and there were no limitations to free- 
dom of action, and initiative, and originality was not ham- 
pered. As society was slowly moulded out of the individuals, 
and men began to collect themselves in groups and act more 
as a unit, some limitations upon individual action were neces- 
sary. Thus as the individual came to act in terms of the 
clan, the clan in terms of the tribe, and when finally the tribe 
gave away to that more complete organization called a Na- 
tion, restraint upon the individual increased until he found 
himself a responsible member of a democratic government 
in some cases, and a subservient subject in an aristocratic 
government in others. But inasmuch as a nation can be no 
greater than the fabric of which it is built, progressive and 
far-seeing nations began to gradually provide for the educa- 
tion and training of leaders, no thought being given as yet 
to the education of the lower classes. Accordingly, the sys- 
tem grew up in Europe of providing education for the better 
classes, with an almost total ignoring of the so-called lower 
classes. After innumerable attempts and struggles, the lower 



296 The Magazine 

elements gained a semblance of recognition, and education of 
a kind was extended to them. 

Nations soon came to realize that their strength and dura- 
bility depended not upon the education of the few, merely, 
but the general enlightenment of all its people. Leaving out 
of consideration democratic countries such as the United 
States, Germany was the first European nation to perceive 
this fundamental truth. Accordingly, the program of effi- 
ciency was inaugurated in Germany, and this doctrine of 
efficiency under the stimulus of the German Kultur was later 
to disturb the peace, and threaten the safety, of the world. 
Germany became a worshipper of the god, Efficiency, and in- 
dividual traits and characteristics were tolerated only to the 
extent in which they coincided with the efficiency program. 
The normal German was incorporated into the machine and 
vaccinated with German Kultur, and imbued with the doc- 
trine of Deutschland uber Alles, he became a minute but nec- 
essary part of the war machine. That Germany had a won- 
derfully constructed war machine built up out of individuals 
can not be disputed. Since, however, the durability of a ma- 
chine depends upon the strength of its component parts, the 
German machine could in the final analysis be no stronger 
than the automatons of which it was constructed. The Ger- 
man private could function only as he was driven or ordered 
by an officer, and though the expediency of the moment de- 
manded some action on his part, he was powerless until or- 
dered by a superior. The complexity of the machine had 
become so great as to become useless upon the slightest im- 
pairment of its slightest part. 

Of course, there can be no comparison, literally, between 
the situation in Germany before the war and that in Amer- 
ica to-day, yet there exists some similarity as to the general 
trend education is following at present. The last decade has 
seen a steady increase in educational requirements. Colleges 



The Magazine 297 

and universities are steadily increasing their requirements 
to prospective college students, and are emphasizing the fact 
that they need better material with which to work. And the 
time is not far distant when the high school will be where the 
colleges are now, and the colleges will have moved on further 
up the educational ladder. We, too, are striving at efficiency, 
which, if treated in a correct way, will be for the ultimate 
benefit of the JNTation, but which, if directed into the wrong 
channels, may prove disastrous to the existence of the United 
States as a great nation. Every branch of industry, every 
profession is now demanding specialization, and each indi- 
vidual finds it necessary to confine his training to a single 
phase of his business or profession. Specialization tends to- 
ward perfection and no doubt is necessary, but as it has in- 
creased, artificiality has increased with it, and already indi- 
viduals have a tendency to do things mechanically. Care 
must be taken to keep the element of humaneness intact in 
the individual, for once this is destroyed, efficiency becomes 
a menace. The individual must never be developed to that 
point where he acts in terms of a formula. As long as the 
individualism of the individual predominates and the indi- 
vidual does not become a mechanical atom effective only to 
the extent that he forms a part of a larger body, efficiency 
and specialization may well go on without any great danger 
of evil results, but if ever the cosine of human endeavor, in- 
dividualism or initiative is found and is translated into math- 
ematical or mechanical formulae, apprehension for the future 
must needs be entertained. 



298 The Magazine 



a ©enior'0 Hast Reverie 

D. D. Topping 

Stretched full length beneath a stately pine, I am lying on 
a hillside south of the college campus. A deep calm pervades 
the Sabbath twilight atmosphere. In the golden west a great 
cloud-bank is rising to hide the last rays of the sun. Stretch- 
ing up the farther hillside and on into the distance, the oaks 
and the hickories and the poplars stand majestic and impos- 
ing in their quietude, dotted here and there by the white 
blooms of the dogwood. The air is laden with the soft, 
balmy incense of the Southland in all its richest glory. In 
the little valley below me a brook is babbling its ceaseless 
song, and the words of a poet come to me, bringing a sense 
of eternity : 

"For men may come 
And men may go, 
But I go on forever." 

Overhead and round and round about me a wood-thrush is 
pouring out his soul in an ecstasy of melody. On some dis- 
tant meadow the cattle are lowing, as the herd slowly wends 
its way homeward. A deep calm creeps into my soul, and 
for the moment I am near to God, and lost in rapt reverie. 
Fast falls the eventide of my college life, and I am thinking 
of the morrow. To-morrow we part and are gone forever, 
and the thought fills me with an infinite sadness, for in every 
parting there is an image of death. 



The Magazine 299 

Darkness is creeping over the landscape. A fulling moon 
throws its first soft streaks of silver among the trees. The 
deep tones of the old college bell ring out on the stillness like 
a solemn knell. I flick the ashes from my burnt-out pipe, 
and reality holds me in its sway again, but the vision of 
beauty has sunk far into my soul, and the inspiration re- 
mains. Comes again the thought in deep and pulsing accents, 
sad and full of prophecy — to-morrow we go, but the sacred- 
ness of this hallowed spot will stay on in our hearts, com- 
panion to the spirit of Carolina, wrapt together forever in 
the reverent love of Alma Mater. 



<■ 



300 The Magazine 



agnostic 

D. E. Hodgin 

Why 

Could not I 

Have been a little, narrow-minded 

Reformer, 

Ranting against the Government 

And "Das Capital" . . . 

Beating out my life against the solid wall 

Of Public Opinion ? 

Instead of opening my mind 

To all the infinitude of doubts 

Of Life and Death, 

Of Love, Religion, 

Of God, and Man, 

Of the destiny of the race, 

Of Heaven and Hell — 

The Universe . . . 

The which, 

Filling my mind to its capacity, 

And beyond, 

Threatens to break it — 

To explode, 

As warm air, collecting and expanding, 

Bursts the thin-blown bubble of the child. 

Why did God give me a mind 

Too weak to bear the strain 

Of understanding Truth? 

Alas ! It is not big enough. . . . 



The Magazine 301 



I am a man. . . . 

In striving for the Truth, 

I strive to be a god, 

And can not. 

Only gods are perfect. 

Instead of beating against the solidity 

Of Present Thought, 

I try to take it, Samson-like, 

Upon my shoulders ; 

And I am crushed 

Beneath the weight 

Of the Wall. 



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The Greensboro Daily News 



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North Carolina is a great state, and the Daily 
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